Pearls and Swine
by BellaSunshine
Summary: Set in the sweltering landscape of Miami, this story follows Isabella Swan, a school teacher who made the hit list of one of Miami's top crime families. What happens when the son of another crime boss is asked to take care of the problem? "Family above all else." ON HIATUS AS OF 11/26
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello! I'm back. Hope you enjoy this one :)

Special thanks to ordinary vamp and Dinx for lending me their eyes and mad grammar skills.

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_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter One**

_When I was just a little girl  
I asked my mother, what will I be  
Will I be pretty, will I be rich  
Here's what she said to me._

_Que Sera, Sera,_  
_Whatever will be, will be_  
_The future's not ours, to see_  
_Que Sera, Sera_  
_What will be, will be._

_- Lyrics by Jay Livingstone and Ray Evans_

Miami.

My home.

I love how you can be whoever you want to be and no one thinks twice about it.

Last week, I passed a guy wearing a tutu and a beret on Ocean Drive, and nobody gave him a second look. I smiled at him, and he had smiled back as he went on his way.

I've lived in Miami for less than a year, so the city is still mine to discover. My favorite place is undoubtedly South Beach. I love the Art Deco architecture, the history of it all. The streets are always packed with people, tourists and residents, happily co-habitating, even if it's just for a little while. The smell of Cuban food wafts into the air, as does the sound of Latin music. On more than one occasion, I've found myself drawn into the burgeoning crowd, unable to pass up the rhythmic beats of salsa and reggae. My Spanish is limited, so I can't really understand most of the words, but there is nothing quite like an upbeat Latin song to get the blood pumping.

Today, I'm on my way to meet my brother for lunch, but as happens on occasion, I get waylaid by a family of tourists.

"Would you mind taking a picture of us?" the patriarch asks, holding out his camera.

I smile, more than happy to oblige, and take the camera from him. He gathers his sun-drenched family around him, and as we stand in front of a palm tree, I hold the camera up in front of me.

"Say Miami!" I shout enthusiastically, grinning when they all yell, smiles on their delirious faces. I know how they feel. There's nothing quite like Miami. Sometimes, I think I'm still just a tourist, even if I now call the place home. I'm sure I look like one, carrying around a guidebook and a camera as I explore.

I observe the family, now being treated to a round of Dippin' Dots. The look of pure joy on their faces warms my heart, reminding me of the first time I visited the New York City of the south. I was only fifteen, but the first time I stepped foot into that warm cerulean blue Atlantic water, I knew I'd end up here again.

"Hola, Isabel novia!"

I turn, smiling when I hear the voice of one of my favorite people as he walks toward me. He pauses feet away to snuff out his cigar, knowing how much I hate the smell.

"Hola, _Señor_ Felix!" I say, greeting him with a kiss on each cheek. "¿Cómo es tu día?" My Spanish may be crap, but I'm still learning and I have the basics down. Felix is all too happy to indulge me in my lessons.

"Maravilloso!" He squeezes my shoulders. "You are looking quite ravishing today, Isabel."

I smile. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"This day could not be more perfect. I suspect you would agree, no?" He playfully nudges me with his elbow.

"No, I can't argue with that. ¿Cómo es tu amor?"

"Ah, my Miriam is vivacious as ever! Perhaps you would care to join us for dinner one evening? I know how much you love her empanadas!"

Just then, a sleek black Mercedes rolls up to the curb, and Felix glares at the tinted windows before gently guiding me away, as if he's afraid that whoever is inside will open the door and snatch me – or maybe just run me down.

"So, empanadas, yes?" he asks again.

"That would be wonderful," I say. "You know how to find me."

"Of course, of course! And now I must go. I will be in touch, Isabel novia!" He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze before rushing away.

I glance curiously at the Mercedes, its driver still sitting inside. It's not unusual to see such lavish vehicles here, or to spot a celebrity or three on any given day.

I shrug and continue on my way.

I smile as I think fondly about Felix, who had been the very first person I met when I landed on my feet in South Beach. I was strolling along the sidewalk on Ocean Drive, sipping a pineapple smoothie, and taking in the sights and sounds of my new city when Felix dashed out of an alley next to his restaurant, nearly knocking me over in his haste.

_"Perdón!" he had said quickly, latching onto my arm. "Forgive me, __señorita__. Are you okay?"_

_"Yeah, yes. I'm fine, thank you," I said, slightly taken aback by his jubilant personality._

_He pulled back, but still held onto my arm. "You are new to here, yes?"_

_I laughed. "Guilty. My first day here."_

_He grinned and finally dropped my arm, but only to clap in excitement. He pushed the tip of his tan fedora up. "Maravilloso! Maravilloso!" he stated. "Come, let me introduce you to Alberto. You must have a proper introduction to our beautiful city."_

_I barely had time to argue with him as he led me back into the alley and through a door. My nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of frying meat and spices. I could hear the faint tones of conversation spilling in from the dining room, and a man yelling in the kitchen._

_"Sit, sit!" he said, pulling out a leather chair, its seat cracked and worn._

_I did as told, my eyes darting around the cramped office. He left me there, and after a few minutes, I began to grow nervous. He seemed like a nice man, but he was still a complete stranger. Finally, he burst through the door, startling me, and was followed by a tall, lanky, dark-skinned man not much older than me. He grinned, placing a plate on the desk. They exchanged words I didn't understand, and then Alberto left._

_"What is your name, novia?" Felix asked, leaning against an old filing cabinet, its shell overloaded with old magnets and business cards._

_"Um, Isabella. But I like to be called Bel-"_

_He waved his hands in front of me. "No buts! Isabella is a beautiful name! My name is Felix. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, __señorita__ Isabel." I liked how he called me Isabel. It sounded like "eeza-bell," which seemed exotic._

_I smiled at him, held out my hand, and he took it, giving it a swift shake before gesturing toward the food. "Alberto is one of the best chefs in all of Miami! Everyone says so. This is for you. A welcome gift, sweet Isabel."_

_I looked at the plate. It was filled to the edges with shredded pork, a creamy red sauce, rice and fried plantains. There was no way I could ever eat so much food, and it didn't look all that appealing, but I didn't want to piss off my new friend._

_"The best of Cuba on one plate!" Felix said triumphantly. "Go on. Eat!"_

_I picked up the fork and stabbed a piece of the meat, still hesitant. As it went to my mouth, Felix kept his eyes on me._

"_Oh my God," I said, closing my eyes as it dawned on me how wrong I was. It was pure joy in my mouth. Just the right amount of spicy and sweet._

_"It is good, yes?"_

_"Oh my God," I repeated, nodding quickly, not caring I was mid-chew. "I've never had anything like this!"_

_Felix grinned in satisfaction, tapping his finger to his temple. "See? Felix know. He always know."_

_I finished the entire plate without hesitation._

Since that day, I've been eating lunch or dinner at Felix's at least twice a week. Alberto has become accustomed to everything I like, and he makes sure it's cooked perfectly for me. If I didn't know better, I'd believe they even count the ice cubes they put in my tea – no lemon. I swear I've gained ten pounds since discovering Cuban food.

I won't be eating at Felix's today, though. It's a rare occasion that I get to meet Jasper for lunch, and he has his own favorite places, so I'm indulging him.

I take a seat on the steps outside Park Central Hotel and wait. A lot of the best restaurants on South Beach are tucked away inside the hotels, according to Jasper. How he knows that, I'm not sure. He has lived in a high-rise condo downtown since moving here four years ago.

Jasper was adopted by my parents, Charlie and Renee, when he was three. My mom had suffered several miscarriages before doctors told her there was no hope. They went to a local orphanage to find a child when everyone else was going to China. It was rare to find a child as young as Jasper. Children that young are usually among the first to be adopted, but they got lucky with him.

It wasn't long after they adopted Jasper that they got a surprise – me. I was their miracle baby. But in order for me to be born, my mom was risking her own life. It was a chance they decided to take. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for them. On the day I was born, September 13, 1987, one month early, my mom slipped away and doctors couldn't bring her back.

When my dad told me this story on my fifteenth birthday, I was amazed that he still had so much love in his heart for me, the person who took the love of his life away from him.

His response had been "She was my love of my life, but she gave me a piece of her to love even more."

When Jasper decided to join the force, he asked our dad's permission to drop Swan from his name for professional reasons. I had thought he was crazy, but it kind of made sense. My dad agreed, and to this day, Jasper still uses the last name of Hale.

When he finally pulls up, I can't help but smile as he masterfully parallel parks his old baby blue El Camino across the street. The car is a gem, a sixteenth birthday present from our dad, and Jasper babies it. He gets out, taking time to walk to each end of the car to make sure there's adequate space before jogging across the street to meet me.

"Hey, sis," he says, kissing my cheek. "Waiting long?"

"Nope." I nod toward the car. "Looks good."

He grins. "Just had 'er waxed. So, are you ready for school?"

"I am," I answer, walking alongside him into the hotel. We enter Quinn's and the hostess recognizes Jasper right away. Of course.

I roll my eyes when he winks at the woman. "Seriously, Jazz?"

"What? I'm a friendly guy," he declares, grinning.

We decide to sit outside so that we can people watch. It's a beautiful August day, as opposed to the last two days when it was cloudy and rainy thanks to a tropical depression parked off the coast.

I begin seeking out the cheaper items on the menu. I love my brother, but his tastes run fairly more expensive than mine. I'm Golden Corral compared to his Ruth's Chris.

"My treat today," he says without a hint of condescension.

"You don't have to do that." I shake my head, not happy with him trying to baby me.

"I know, but I feel bad because I hardly get to see you anymore. Now that school is starting back up, it might be even less."

"Ah, the good ol' guilt lunch. Gotcha. I won't argue. I can't afford this on a teacher's salary anyway." And it's true. I have money in savings, and my salary isn't _that_ bad, but I really can't fathom spending fifty bucks for lunch.

"See? Just like Dad said. Everything always works out."

"I don't really think he was talking about food, but okay," I reply, smiling.

After we've ordered, Jasper lays his BlackBerry on the table, ready to answer it right away.

"Anything new?" I ask, taking a sip of lemonade.

"If by new, you mean exciting, then yeah. There's a few things going on right now. Nothing I can tell you, of course."

"I don't want the details anyway. I'll just worry," I say, thinking back to all the times Dad came home late - and then when he didn't come home at all.

"So, what about you?" he asks, eying the backside of a tall and rather svelte redhead as she passes by.

"God, you are incorrigible!" I say, scrunching up my nose. "Seriously, you need to find a girl and settle down."

"Oh, right. You know how impossible that is right now, Bella. No woman wants to get involved with someone who loves his job more than he can love her."

I tsk.

"You know what I mean," he says. "Anyhow, I asked about you."

"There's nothing new since the last time we met, Jazz. I'm just ... ya know, not real optimistic about the choices around here."

"You're kidding me. Look around you, Bella. There are young, hot and single guys all over the place."

I glance around, but I see none of these guys he speaks of. "Who have seen more action than Chuck Norris," I finally say.

"You have to admit the choices here are better than they were in Cleveland. Maybe you're just looking in the wrong places."

"Or maybe I'm meant to die alone and miserable with a _piña_ colada in my hand." That's more likely.

He chuckles. "Well, Emmett's always-"

"Oh my God, stop." I hold up my hand before he goes any further. "Don't even go there."

"Just sayin'," he mumbles.

The inquisition thankfully ends as soon as our food hits the table. But as expected, we only make it through half of our meal when Jasper's phone buzzes. I sigh and signal our server. We'll need the check, and Jasper will likely need a take-away box.

"When?" Jasper says into the phone while attempting to scarf down more of his food. "Okay, yeah ... no, I'll be there ... tell McCarty to be ready ... yeah, alright. Peace."

He hangs up, an apologetic look crossing his face. "I'm so sorry, Bella. God, I feel like such a tool."

"Hey, I understand. Duty calls," I say, and I do understand. I've grown accustomed to being left to my own devices. Our dad was the same way. The phone would ring, he'd give a few abrupt answers and then disappear.

Jasper fishes a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and lays it on the table before standing. "Stay, finish your lunch." He leans down and kisses the top of my head. "I'll be in touch. Love ya."

"Love you, too," I say. "Be careful."

"Always." He winks before jumping over the rail and onto the sidewalk as if he's a superhero on a mission. In a way, I guess he is. Ridding the city of crime and all that.

I end up pushing the food around on my plate, my appetite waning. I admire Jasper for being so involved in his career, much like our dad had been. But I constantly walk around with a ball of worry in my stomach, waiting for a knock on the door, or a phone call telling me that my worst fear has come true.

I don't want to go through it again. Jasper's all I have.

Six years ago, two days after I turned seventeen, I was suddenly pulled out of AP Biology – in the middle of a test, no less – and taken to the counselor's office, where I found Jasper sitting, leaning forward, his head in his hands.

I knew immediately something was wrong. My stomach dropped, and I sank into the chair next to him. He lifted his head and looked at me, his blue eyes full of sadness and pain. More pain than I'd ever witnessed.

"_Is he dead?" I asked. The counselor, Mrs. Cope, had moved to stand beside me, laying her hand on my shoulder. It wasn't the least bit comforting, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless._

"_I'm so sorry, Bella," Jasper whispered._

"_I want to see him," I replied, shrugging Mrs. Cope's hand away._

"_Isabella, perhaps you'd like to talk about-" Mrs. Cope started, but I cut her off._

"_Jazz, take me to see him," I said, standing. "I want to go."_

"_Bella, that's not a good idea," he answered, getting to his feet._

"_Did you see him?"_

"_That's different. I responded to the scene, and…" His words trailed off, and his eyes slid shut. He shook his head, like he was trying to get rid of the image. I could only imagine what he'd seen._

"_I want to see him," I said again._

_Mrs. Cope cleared her throat. "Isabella, would you mind if I had a moment with your brother?"_

"_Yes, I would mind," I snapped at her. "I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell him that I want to see my dad's dead body as some sort of closure, or because that's the only way I'll believe it."_

"_Bella," Jasper said in his warning tone._

"_I want to see him. Is that too much to ask?" I crossed my arms in defiance. Maybe part of me needed to be convinced that it wasn't a dream, but somehow, I thought that if I could see him before he was dressed in a suit, with makeup on his face and stuck in a coffin, I could say goodbye to the dad that I knew, the one I remembered. At his funeral, he would just be the shell of a man I called Dad._

_Jasper sighed and nodded. "Alright, let's go."_

"_I'll take care of your classes for the next few days, Isabella," Mrs. Cope said, walking with us into the hallway. "Shall I send someone by with your homework?"_

_I nodded, tried to offer her a smile of gratitude, but it came out as a grimace._

_The drive to the hospital was short, only a few miles to downtown Cleveland, but it may as well have been a dozen. Jasper said nothing as he drove, and I stared out the window. My mind was foggy, still trying to remember the last time I'd told him I loved him. I hadn't seen him since the prior evening, when he thanked me for fixing his favorite pasta dish and headed upstairs. At some point in the middle of the night, I heard a phone ring, his, and not ten minutes later he was heading down the stairs and out the door._

_I wonder if he ever gave any thought to the fact that when he left the house, he might not return._

"_Jazz?" I broke the silence in the car with a voice that didn't sound like mine._

_He glanced in my direction, but said nothing._

"_Was he … I mean, did he die there? Wherever it happened?"_

_Jasper pulled into the parking lot and drove toward the main entrance. "He died in surgery."_

_I swallowed down the rising bile in my throat and said nothing._

_Jasper killed the engine and sank back against the seat, his eyes fixed ahead. "Bella, I don't like this. He wouldn't want you to see him this way."_

"_Jasper, I have to," I said softly. "I don't want to regret not doing it."_

_He nodded and opened his door. I did the same and met him at the front, where he took my hand and gave it a squeeze._

_We walked by a horde of media, none of them paying us any attention._

_On the elevator, Jasper hit the button for the basement. The morgue._

_I laid a hand on my stomach and closed my eyes. I played a scene in my head of my dad and I at a father-daughter dance when I was twelve. It was obvious I got my lack of dance skills from him, because while other fathers were twirling their daughters around, my dad and I were content to just stand there and shuffle our feet around a little. But he was there, and that's all that mattered._

_The elevator came to a stop, and I felt my heart rate spike._

_As soon as the doors opened, my eyes landed on two of my dad's fellow marshals. They were talking in hushed tones that halted when they realized they had company. Neither of them said a word to us, just nodded sadly as we walked by._

_Jasper walked to the counter and told someone that we were there to see Charles Swan._

"_Deputy Marshal Swan," I added. My dad had given his life to them, after all. The least that we could do was recognize it._

_We waited as the woman made a phone call. She glanced at us, then hung up the phone._

"_Someone will be right with you," she said. "May I get either of you a drink?"_

_I shook my head, but Jasper asked for coffee, and had it in less than a minute._

_Several minutes passed before a set of steel doors opened at the end of the hall, and a man wearing a white coat quickly walked toward us. The heels of his shiny black loafers echoed so loud on the tiled floor that it sounded like a horse was approaching._

"_Deputy Hale, Miss Swan," he said. "Follow me."_

_Jasper looked at me, and I knew he was again asking me to reconsider. I shook my head in silent dispute and followed the man down the hall._

_When we passed through the heavy doors, I shivered. The air was cold and reeked of chemicals. I wrinkled my nose in disgust._

_Surrounded by dead bodies, and all I could find sickening was the smell of bleach._

_The man paused outside another steel door, and he gave me a look that rivaled Jasper's._

"_I should warn you," he said, pulling the door ajar. "I did my best to clean him up when the front desk called, but-"_

_Jasper laid a hand on my back, ushering me through the door._

_I froze when I spotted him. His entire body was covered with a white sheet, save for his head._

_I glared at Jasper. "You could have warned me," I said through clenched teeth._

_Jasper looked at me in disbelief. "Are you kidding me, Bella? I tried."_

"_But you didn't tell me he …" I turned my back to the room, covering my mouth. The salad I had for lunch was threatening to make a reappearance._

_I heard footsteps, then a small paper cup was thrust in front of me._

_I drank the water quickly, crumpling the cup into a ball before taking a deep breath and turning around._

_Jasper kept in step with me as I slowly made my way to the slab holding the body of my lifeless father._

_I paused a foot away, tears in my eyes._

"_Oh, Jazz," I whispered, seeking out his hand._

"_I'm sorry, Bella," he replied, gripping my fingers tightly._

_I took another step forward, and paused again. I had made a mistake by coming to this place. I'd never remember my dad's warm brown eyes, full of mischief when we went fishing and he dangled worms in front of my face. All I would remember from this moment on was the big fleshy hole where one of those eyes used to be. _

_The door to the room closed, and we were suddenly alone. Just the two of us and our dead father._

"_They tried to save him, Bella," Jasper said. "He wasn't shot at close range, and the bullet went in through his cheek. They worked on him all the way to the hospital and took him straight to surgery, but they lost him on the table. He'd lost too much blood."_

"_Were you with him?" I asked, my eyes focused on my dad's still chest. I stared at it, sending up wish after wish that it was a horrible mistake, and could his chest just please move._

"_I was headed to the scene after I heard the initial call for county backup. Then the call came for an officer down. I never imagined … it never occurred to me that it would be him. They were serving a warrant on a guy wanted out of Atlanta. He wasn't going to go without a fight."_

"_Is he dead?"_

_Jasper nodded. "Peter took the guy out, or so I heard. Dad never regained consciousness. I rode in the ambulance with him. I don't even know if he knew I was there."_

"_He did, Jazz," I said, hoping to comfort him. "I'm sure he did."_

_Jasper reached a shaky hand up to his face and wiped at the tears. He may not have been our dad's biological son, but Charlie was the only dad he had known._

_I laid my head against his shoulder, and we stood there for several minutes. It was quiet in the room, and after the initial shock of seeing my dad had worn off, I began to find some comfort being at his side. I kept thinking about all of those weird shows and movies that depict the afterlife, and whether or not they were true. Had my dad reached his final destination yet? Or was he still there with us, his soul hanging on for just a few more minutes with his children?_

_We were both startled when the door opened, and a man who was quite clearly a police chaplain walked in. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, his badge pinned over his heart and a Bible in his hands. His steps didn't once falter as he neared my dad's grotesque figure. I could only imagine the horrible things this man had seen._

"_I hope to be of some comfort, should you welcome it," he offered, standing at the head of the table. "Perhaps with some prayer?"_

_I looked up at Jasper, and he nodded. Neither of us were religious, but at a time like this, strength was welcome from anywhere._

_The chaplain moved so that he was across from us, and my eyes widened slightly when he reached under the sheet and took my dad's hand. He looked at Jasper and I, as if silently commanding us to do the same, and I found myself reaching under the sheet. The minute my fingers touched my dad's cold hand, my knees buckled and Jasper's arm slid around me to hold me up, but I clasped the once-strong hand of my father and held on to it tightly._

Can you feel that, Dad? I'm here, I have you…

_The chaplain bowed his head. "My Lord, if I may be walking through fields that are rough with grief and care, may I have the courage to continue on to the smooth pastures, where I may walk with comfort and peace. May I not let the weariness and sorrow that may come to my heart today dwarf my hope and enjoyment of the future. Amen."_

"_Amen," Jasper and I whispered._

_The chaplain removed his hand, gently straightening out the sheet, but I couldn't find the will to let go just yet._

"_You both have the prayers of an entire law enforcement community," he said. "My services are available for you should you need them."_

_He opened the cover of the Bible and pulled out a card, handing it to Jasper. "God bless you both."_

_I ran my thumb back and forth across my dad's hand, tears rolling down my cheeks._

"_I love you, Dad," I whispered. "I'm going to miss you so much."_

Jasper stood by my side silently, and again four days later when we were faced with the daunting task of a massive funeral.

Two weeks after that, Jasper announced that he was going to follow in our dad's footsteps and pursue a career in federal law enforcement.

I wasn't happy about it, but who was I to try and talk him out of it? He never once told me I couldn't do anything I wanted to do.

I graduated from high school the next spring, and since he no longer had to look after his baby sister, Jasper left his job as a sheriff's deputy and went to the training academy in Georgia.

I headed off to Ohio State University in pursuit of my education degree.

Jasper eventually took a job in Miami after his training was complete, which was why I decided to leave Ohio after getting my degree.

It's strange how things just seem to fall into place. Had my dad not died, I'd probably still be in Ohio rather than sinking my feet into the white sands of South Beach.

And Jasper may not have decided to join the U.S. Marshals to do what I suspected is his way of finishing our dad's work.

But as I sit here on the beach and look across the vast expanse of the ocean, I realize there are greater things at play. We can make plans, do our own thing, but in the end, we really have no control over anything except for our emotions.

Everything else is out of our hands.

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**Chapter End Notes:** Next chapter...soon.

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the feedback on Ch. 1!

Beta/pre-readers: Ovie and Dinx :)

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_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Two**

**-EPOV-**

The heat is oppressive.

I've lived in Miami my entire life, all twenty-eight years, and I still have yet to get used to the fucking heat. It's bearable at South Beach, because you're near the water and there's a breeze. It's even tolerable downtown, and at the marina, but out here, in the middle of goddamn nowhere, I can feel my skin baking as the sun beats down.

I look with longing toward my father's Mercedes. The engine is still running to keep the AC going, but as much as I want to slip away and climb inside, I have to make sure this latest transaction runs smoothly.

"The shipment arrives next Friday night," Eleazar says behind me. "I spoke with Alistair, and he assures me there are no shipping issues at sea."

"Unless another storm rolls up," my father says, "they have no excuses for being tardy. We can't afford any delays. Not this time."

I turn and look at him, then set my sights on Eleazar. The man should intimidate me, but he doesn't. He's been in my life since the day I was born, and in some ways, he's like a second father to me.

"Which warehouse did you say they'll be docking at?" I ask, hoping I hadn't heard correctly the first time.

"Fifty-four," Eleazar replies. "Same as last time."

I shake my head. "I thought we all agreed that fifty-four was off-limits now?"

My father looks at me, then to Eleazar, then back at me. "Edward, fifty-four is our best option for this shipment. It's at the end of the marina, and if something were to go wrong, we'd have plenty of time to adjust."

"I don't like it," I reply. "You know what happened last time."

"I remember, and trust me, I've taken great care to make sure it doesn't happen again."

I wave my hand in defeat and decide I'm done with this conversation. I make my way to the car and get in, sighing with relief when the cold air hits my skin. My father seems to think that he can ward off any problem with a few phone calls, and most of the time, he can. But the last time a shipment came in to our warehouse, number fifty-four, our surveillance system was compromised, as was the crew, and we lost two-thirds of everything to some third-rate operation out of Cuba.

I can only assume that Carlisle has upped his surveillance this time.

My father and Eleazar continue to talk, and at one point, Eleazar glances in the direction of the car, and my father nods.

"Great," I mumble. Plotting again. They don't just plot out their deals, they plot out the lives of their families.

The two have been pushing for Eleazar's daughter Tanya and I to get married. The Cullens and Denalis go back more than thirty years. Eleazar is ten years older than my father, who has basically learned everything he knows from the man. He was Carlisle's best man at his wedding to my mother, Esme. They sent their kids to the same exclusive private school, and as far back as I can remember, there has always been a Denali presence at every one of our holiday gatherings.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Independence Day. Any holiday that comes with a party, the Cullens and Denalis celebrate together.

My younger sister, Rosalie, and the oldest Denali boy, Marcus, have been dating for over two years. Naturally, they all just assume that Tanya, who is Marcus' twin sister, and I will settle down together. And then there's my baby sister Alice, and the youngest Denali boy, Stephen. It's like perfect symmetry. Three boys, three girls.

Perhaps they're looking to create some big empire. Who knows.

But I know for a fact that I will never marry Tanya Denali. Keeping her as company and fucking her is one thing. Settling down with her is another entirely. It's not going to happen. To her credit, she has done very little in the way of pushing.

Tanya and I look good together and we get along, despite the fact that we really don't have that much in common. We have what I would call an open relationship, free to see other people. I certainly wouldn't want her to pass up a chance at snagging another wealthy soul to spoil her the way her father has.

As I watch Eleazar and my father, I scan the flat horizon. It's all dead brush and palmetto trees covered by blue sky. There is absolutely nothing out here, which is why it was chosen for today's business meeting. The closest building is four miles back on Highway 41, and we're parked at least a mile off the main stretch.

I turn the radio on and seek out NPR. Boring, I know, but most of the music they play on local radio today is crap.

Eleazar and my father shake hands, and I watch my father as he approaches. There's always a swagger in his step after these meetings, and I have a feeling that he's particularly confident today.

"That went well," I comment when he gets in. "Everything's squared away, I assume."

He nods and buckles up, which never ceases to amuse me. He has at least a dozen men around the world that would pay good money to have him disappear, and he worries about driving while unrestrained.

"Eleazar assures me that everything is good on his end."

"Do you believe him?"

My father looks at me incredulously and says nothing. I suppose that was a rather stupid question. Of course Eleazar wouldn't lie to my father. He would never jeopardize their business.

I look ahead at the backend of the Escalade that Eleazar is traveling in. Unlike my father, who prefers to drive himself, Eleazar has a driver take him everywhere. I can't recall ever seeing Eleazar behind the wheel of a car.

"What are your plans for this evening?" my father asks, turning the radio dial until it hits a classic rock station.

"I'm accompanying Tanya to a gallery opening downtown," I say, glancing at him. I'm not surprised when he smirks.

"Tanya has become quite the fixture in the art scene," he says.

I nod in agreement, but say nothing. I don't want to egg him on.

"Your mother has been hoping to put together a fundraiser for Art Basel. Perhaps Tanya would be interested in helping with that."

I sigh and look at the passing scenery as we barrel down 41 toward Miami. With it being off-season, traffic is scarce on the two-lane highway.

"Maybe," I reply.

"Have you spoken with Alice?" he asks, and there's a hint of sadness in his voice, as there usually is when he speaks of my baby sister.

"Not since last month," I answer. "She leaves for Mexico on the sixteenth."

He scowls. The irony of the situation isn't lost on me. He's worried that she'll go to Mexico and get hurt, or worse, killed. It isn't exactly breaking news that the drug lords are running rampant down there, killing and maiming anyone that gets in their way. They especially hate Americans, and the American daughter of a wealthy businessman would be a prime catch.

"I wish she wouldn't," he says, then shakes his head.

"I don't like it either, but at least she's…" My words trail. I may be close to my father, but I still find it difficult to speak my mind to him sometimes.

"She's what, Edward? She's _free_? Is that what you want to say? Just say it."

"I envy her," is all I can manage, and thankfully, he doesn't ask me to explain.

And I do envy Alice. When she turned sixteen, she announced that she wanted nothing to do with the family business. Rosalie had laughed and said "good luck," and I secretly wished her the best.

She went to Vanderbilt, where she got a degree in special education, and then returned to Miami to teach. Last spring, she confided in me that she wanted to leave Florida, and was considering spending a school year teaching in Mexico.

I wanted to talk her out of it, but curiosity kicked in. I wanted to see if she could make it, if she could survive a life away from what we knew.

She's the lucky one. It has always been expected that I would take over the family business one day, and if I were to even mention wanting to step away, my father would hit the roof.

A part of me wonders if he might even try to have me killed. I don't think he would, but there was that whole mess with Uncle Aro and my cousin Caius. He had enough of the crime business, always having to look over his shoulder, and decided to flee. When Aro got wind of it, he sent two of his henchmen to visit his son, and no one has seen him since. Caius would be dangerous out in the real world, my father had explained. One slip-up and he could bring down two families and several generations of power.

And just like Caius, I know too much. I've been involved in every aspect since I returned from Harvard with my business degree. It's an unspoken agreement between us that I would never walk away, and I would never jeopardize the family in any way. But that's a chance my father would never take, not even with his own flesh and blood.

Rose would never fare well at the top. She's too busy traveling the world and making use of our family's sizable fortune. What I wouldn't give to cut her off. That alone would make taking over the business worth it.

"I have to make a quick stop before I drop you at home." My father's voice cuts into my rambling thoughts, and I realize that he's been on the phone and we're approaching the causeway.

A cruise ship has docked, and I press my head against the window, looking up at the towering behemoth as we drive alongside it.

If I could, I'd never leave South Beach. When I returned from college, the very first thing I did was purchase a condo overlooking the ocean. Six years later, I'm still not tired of the view.

We take a left on Collins and then a right toward Ocean Drive. He shows no sign of impatience as we crawl along behind a minivan with a New Hampshire tag. If I were driving, I would have been cursing to the point of boiling blood.

Finally, he whips into an open spot. My brow furrows when a man standing near the curb quickly pulls a girl away, as if he's afraid she'll be hit.

I roll my eyes when I realize we're in front of Johnny Rockets. If there's one thing my dad has a weakness for, it's a good chocolate milkshake. One night, I witnessed him blow away a snitch and chug down a milkshake right after.

His BlackBerry rings, and he answers it. I turn my attention to the jumpy man and the girl he's talking to. She's smiling, and I can't help but smile as I look at her. She's beautiful, with long, mahogany hair and freckles dotting her face. She laughs at something the man says, and then he kisses her cheek. After he leaves, she looks right at me, but I know she can't see me, not through the dark tint. A curious look breaches her expression, but she shrugs slightly and walks away. I watch her until she's swallowed by the crowd and out of sight. I wonder who she is, if she lives nearby. Her skin has a glow to it, but not of the South Beach kind, which leads me to believe that if she is a local, she hasn't been here long.

"Do you want anything?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want something to drink?" my father asks, unlatching his seat belt.

"No, thanks," I reply.

While he's inside, I pull out my BlackBerry and bring up Tanya's number. I should text her to find out when she's going to be ready, but I'm suddenly not in the mood to attend tonight's party. I've backed out on Tanya one too many times, though, so doing so tonight isn't an option.

Minutes later, my father returns and we pull away. He makes a comment about an old El Camino that some jackass is attempting to parallel park, and I chuckle. He likes milkshakes and hates old cars. He thinks they eat up too much ozone because they don't have the current EPA standards.

We pull up outside the high-rise I live in, and I open the car door.

"Give Tanya my best," my father says, a glint in his eye.

I resist the urge to flip him the bird. "Will do," I answer, scrambling out before he can say anything else, like suggest baby names.

As usual, I'm greeted with friendly hellos as I pass through the pristine lobby. The security guard, Tony, simply nods, and I return his acknowledgment. He's the only person in the building who knows what my last name really means, and I pay him handsomely to forget that he knows it – and to give me extra security.

I head to my private elevator and swipe my card. The door opens, and I step inside, noting that it has been polished today. As I begin the ascent to the top floor, I look at myself in the mirror. Clearly, I need more sleep. There are hints of darkness underneath each eye, and they've only recently appeared.

I'm typically not one to stress over things, but the whole thing with Alice has been weighing on me, and I sometimes lay awake at night dreaming up scenarios in which I, too, could escape.

The elevator dings and opens, and I step into the foyer of my condo. Straight ahead, down the long hallway, I see nothing but the calming blue waters of the ocean, and instantly I feel better.

I loosen my tie as I walk toward the main room.

"TV on," I say, and I'm greeted with the sound of CNBC.

I walk straight to the bar and grab a glass, pouring myself some scotch.

The stock market is having a strong day, which has been unusual as of late. I move around the bar and take a seat on the sofa, kicking off my shoes.

"Among today's movers and shakers is Volturi International, which has seen a resurgence in the service sector," the anchor says.

I smirk, knowing full well why my father's company has seen recent growth in its least-involved field. Three days ago, we purchased a fledgling yacht-maker in Cannes, fired the entire workforce and announced plans to move it to Miami. Only a handful of people knew what else would be coming with that shipment.

My father was nothing if not a shrewd businessman.

I groan as the BlackBerry buzzes in my pocket.

"Tanya," I say into the phone as I finish off my drink.

"Hello, darling," she coos. "Are you home?"

"I am. Relaxing before I get ready for this evening's party. I take it you're getting all dolled up."

She laughs. "You know me so well, Edward. I'm sitting in a little boutique a mere four blocks from you. I thought perhaps I would just come there and we could get ready together."

I frown. "Well, why not," I eventually say.

"Fantastic. I'll see you soon, then."

I disconnect and lay my head back, staring up at the expansive ceiling. I think back to the girl that I saw earlier, the way her face lit up during her conversation with her friend. In that one minute I had watched her, she exuded more warmth than Tanya ever had.

If only I used living in South Beach to my advantage, I might have already met this girl.

I gave up on clubbing years ago. My conquests were always fun, but it got tiresome after awhile. I grew bored with the offerings, and spring breakers were just too risky. It would only take one wrong move to lose everything, a fact that my father has drilled into my head since I brought home my first girlfriend in high school.

I stand and refill my glass before moving outside. The white sands of the beach are spread out below, and my gaze roams before moving out to sea. Up here, I can hear the waves and the distant trill of gulls. It's almost like being in another world. It's private and somewhat lonely, but perfect.

I hear the elevator ding and turn just as Tanya appears. She's dressed impeccably in a white pantsuit that shows off her tempting figure. I smirk as she drops her alligator purse on the sofa and goes straight to the bar.

"Edward," she calls.

"Out here," I reply, watching her through the glass.

Her heels echo off the marble floor as she walks out. She wastes no time in sidling up to me, and I welcome her mouth on mine. It's familiar and distracting.

"Mm, I must say I like kissing you so much better now that you've given up those damn cigarettes," she says, leaning against the rail. She takes a sip of her wine and looks down toward the beach.

"You look nice," I tell her. And it's true. Her red hair has been pulled into some sort of braided sculpture at the back of her head. It looks like a work of art, something that Picasso might have put together had he dabbled in hair design.

"What's so funny?" she asks, eying me.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just thinking about that Picasso sculpture in the foyer at my parents' home."

She tilts her head in contemplation. "The one that looks like a man bending over backwards?"

"The very same."

"O-kay," she says, shaking her head. "And for the record, you never, ever tell a woman that she looks _nice_. You think it's a compliment, but it's not."

"Would you prefer spiffy?" I ask in amusement.

"Try harder, Edward. Your frat boy is showing."

I laugh, and she reels me in for another kiss.

It's not the first time I've taken her on the patio chaise lounge.

Three hours later, we're moving through the lobby, her gloved arm casually looped through mine. I tell her she looks spiffy, and she rolls her eyes.

We pause outside, waiting for the valet to bring around my Mercedes Roadster. It's not a car I drive often, usually for special occasions, but I'm feeling rather rejuvenated after the much-needed release Tanya has obliged me.

The art gallery downtown is filled to the brim with people dressed in their most expensive tuxes and gowns, as if wearing their money seals their ability to raise it. In some cases, I suppose it does. My family donates thousands of dollars to various charities every year, and we can only do so because we wear the most expensive clothes and drive the flashiest vehicles.

We smile for pictures, and Tanya hangs on my arm through much of the night. I know we make a striking couple, and people talk about us as we pass by as if they've never seen us before.

I'm sure the rumors will double by night's end. Tanya and I are engaged, living together, planning a wedding. Or better still, she's already pregnant with the heir to the Volturi throne.

Yes, I've heard it all. It never ceases to amaze me.

I join a few gentlemen on the roof of the building once Tanya separates herself to gossip with some of the ladies. A pretty blond approaches, offers me a cigar, and I take it without hesitation. I watch her as she walks away, the red sequined dress hugging her backside quite nicely.

If Tanya weren't here, I'd have no problem luring Cigar Girl into a private room for some quick action. I might be an asshole, but even I wouldn't sink that low.

It doesn't take long before Tanya seeks me out. I'm talking with two men about attending next year's Grand Prix of Monaco when she snakes her arm around my waist.

"We can leave whenever you want," she murmurs, pressing against me. "I'd prefer sooner rather than later."

While I'm driving across the causeway, away from downtown and toward South Beach, Tanya's fingers are on my inner thigh. She hasn't taken her eyes off me since we walked out of the gallery.

"It looks like Art Basel is a go," she says. "Thanks to a rather generous donation from Denali Inc."

"That's good news," I reply, swallowing as her hand nudges my hard-on.

"Yes, I think so," she purrs, rubbing me. "Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Unless you want to get pulled over, I suggest you drop below eighty."

I glance at the speedometer. _Fuck_. I was doing nearly a hundred across the causeway. The last thing I need is to get pulled over by some cop with an attitude.

"All in due time, baby," she says, removing her hand.

All in due time, I think. _All_ in due time.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** So...thoughts on Edward?

To answer a couple of questions I received a few times, I don't really have a set schedule for updating, though Sundays seem to be it for now. Whether it remains weekly has yet to be determined. I don't know how long this story will be, either. I have several chapters already written.

Thanks for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thanks as always for the feedback!

Special thanks to my lovely betas/pre-readers, Ovie and Dinx. Love you girls.**  
**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Three**

**-BPOV-**

"_Good morning, Miami! The time now is six a.m. and it's currently seventy-five degrees…"_

I groan and reach for the alarm clock, hitting the top of it to shut up the annoying DJ's voice.

What I wouldn't give for another hour of sleep.

But alas, I crawl out of bed and hit the bathroom, then the kitchen to get the coffee going.

I flip on the TV and am greeted with images of a drug raid that occurred the previous night. I smile, knowing that Jasper and Emmett were likely part of the takedown.

"A reminder to Miami-Dade County residents," the anchor says. "Today's the first day of school, so you'll all want to slow down on area roads and watch for school buses."

I sigh and drop my head into my arms, folded on the bar. "Don't remind me."

I love my job. I really, truly do. I love kids, and I love watching their little faces light up with glee when they solve a problem or create something brilliant. But I'm also one of those people who loathe getting up at the crack of dawn. It's a Catch-22, I guess.

I've already laid out my attire for the day – a sensible black pencil skirt and a red peacock top with ruffled sleeves. It says I'm fun, but professional.

My first-day-of-school breakfast consists of egg whites on an English muffin, a bowl of fruit and two slices of turkey bacon. I drop a blueberry Nutrigrain bar and an apple into my bag, then remove the apple and replace it with an orange.

Apples are so … teachery.

My school is in Coral Gables, which is also home to the University of Miami. I'd be lying if I said I don't sometimes think about walking through the campus – and I have driven through a couple of times. I kinda miss college life, even though it has barely been over a year since I was a student. Miami's campus is beautiful, with old architecture and a ton of shade trees. It reminds me of home.

Today, though, I drive my little Corolla on by the campus after I leave my apartment and head straight for the school. I lucked out last year when I moved here. I thought I'd end up stuck in an apartment complex, but I found an ad tacked to a bulletin board at Denny's, and later that day, I put down a deposit on a garage apartment at an upscale, old Florida home not far from the school. The home's grounds are gated, which put Jasper at ease, and it's hard to see the house from the street. Besides the fact that there's an eight-foot high wall around the property, there are palm trees and a giant banyan tree covering much of the front. I have no idea what the owners do, but I hardly ever see them, and that's fine with me. Part of the agreement says I can use the pool and sauna, but I'm not to go into the main house unless invited.

I've never used the pool, mostly because it kind of creeps me out, thinking that there may be someone inside the main house watching me.

The only downside to the place is that I have to park on the street, which is a bitch when it's raining, and since it's now rainy season, that's nearly every day.

I pull onto the school grounds and head to employee parking. I spot Principal Jenks' BMW right away, parked in its reserved spot.

Tara Jenks and I got off on the wrong foot the day I interviewed for my job. I was wearing a pair of ridiculously high heels, and there was a slight run in the edge of a carpet going into her office. Of course, because the gods in my world hate me, my heel found that spot, and I went tumbling in, knocking over what I later learned was a Waterford crystal vase. It usually adorned a bookshelf, but just this once, had to be sitting out in the open, holding prized calla lilies from Tara's mother-in-law's nursery in Homestead.

I offered to replace it, but she told me to forget about it. I tried to, but it's really hard to do that when she practically cringes anytime I enter her office. I _swear_ I'm not a klutz. My parents granted me with quick reflexes and a solid footing.

But, thankfully, the carpet was replaced.

Tara is standing at the main entrance as I approach, lugging my heavy bag on my shoulder. She smiles, and I half-heartedly attempt one in return.

"Ready to go?" she asks, and I nod.

"As always," I reply, stepping into the cool air.

My classroom is four doors in, and I can't help but grin as I walk inside. I've put a great deal of effort into getting it ready for this year's batch of second-graders. There are fresh tablets and pencils, and the room smells of books. I place my bag on the desk and fold my arms as I stare out at my domain, its walls adorned with various inspirational posters. I hung colorful stars with each student's name above their desks.

The bell will ring in thirty minutes. I take a minute to double-check my appearance so that I make a good first impression on the parents who bring their children to school. Then, I set out to place workbooks on each desk. I make sure that everything is in order and finally move to the door, propping it open before stepping into the hall.

There are already students and parents walking about, their excited chatter filling the air.

A tall man in glasses is approaching, a little girl with jet black hair at his side. She's shyly clutching a backpack nearly as big as she is. His face lights up when he spots the correct room – mine.

"Well, there she is," he says, patting the little girl's head. "Miss Swan?"

I nod, smiling as I hold out my hand. "Who do we have here?"

"Tell her your name," the man says to his daughter – or who I presume is his daughter.

"Maria," she replies, looking everywhere but at me.

"We were hoping Maria would have you this year. Her brother Max was in your class last year."

"Oh! Yes, Max," I answer. "I remember him. He's quite an artist. He really loves to paint, doesn't he?"

He laughs. "Anything he can get his hands on. Shall we go in and find your desk, Maria?"

She moves forward and he follows, and I turn my attention back to the hallway. One down, fourteen to go.

**-EPOV-**

I swear to fucking God I'm going to kill the fucker.

I throw the newspaper onto my desk and groan, running my hands through my hair in frustration.

**FOUR ARRESTED IN MASSIVE DRUG RAID**

_Quil Ateara._ I should have known better than to rely on the little weasel. Up until now, he hasn't let us down, and I figure that if I ask him about it, he'll swear he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Well, it was certainly the wrong time.

I pick up the phone and dial Dad's number. He answers on the second ring.

"Before you say one word," he begins, "you should know that I've put up his bail."

I groan. "Why? Why would you tie yourself to that?"

"Because he's a kid, Edward, and he made a mistake. He didn't have any drugs on him. They really have no evidence against him as it is. He played dumb about everything, and they can't prove he's more than an innocent bystander who was sitting in the car waiting for a friend."

I sigh and lean back in my chair. The sky is an unbelievable shade of blue today, and I suddenly wish I were anywhere but at the office.

"Then why was he even arrested?" I ask, my patience wearing thin.

"He mouthed off to one of the cops, and had it not been for that, they probably would have let him go."

I tsk. Yeah, that sounds like Quil. "Who are these other guys? Should we be worried about them?"

"They're nobodies, Edward. I don't recognize a single one of them, but you can bet I'm going to ask Quil about them. I want to make sure we're all on the same page here. I can't afford any surprises this Friday, and Quil _will_ have his head on straight."

"You sound so sure," I say, shaking my head. _I'm not._

"Quil knows where his loyalties lie."

After we disconnect, I pull up Quil's jail record. His arrest last night was his first, and it's a misdemeanor charge of loitering. _Loitering!_

"Dumbass," I mutter, but I know it could have been worse.

If he had been inside the house, he would have been in even more trouble, and my father probably wouldn't have been so eager to bail his sorry ass out.

I spend the rest of my morning going over stock figures for the past week and begin the tedious process of cataloging the contents of Friday's shipment.

The legal contents, anyway.

The other stuff, the stuff that makes us rich, is off the radar.

Before long, it's lunchtime, and I'm meeting Tanya at The Capital Grille. She greets me with a kiss on the cheek, as usual, and I pull out her chair.

"Daddy was angry this morning," she shares, scanning the menu. "Something about one of your henchmen getting arrested?"

I scowl at her. "Not one of mine, and if it were up to me, he'd stay in jail. I tried to tell Carlisle that the kid is too jerky for this kind of work, but for whatever reason, he seems to think he's okay. Whatever."

"Come on, Edward. We both know that anyone who stays loyal and gets the job done is enough."

"That's just it," I reply, keeping my voice low. "I don't know that the kid will stay loyal. What if he'd gotten busted inside that house? He might squeal to save his ass."

Tanya smirks. She fucking _smirked_ at me. "I must say, Mr. Cullen. You're quite sexy when you're worked up over business. I don't get to see this side of you very often."

I roll my eyes. "I don't like to mix business with pleasure. You know that."

"Hm. Touché," she says, grinning.

She offers after lunch to release some of my pent-up frustration, but I deny her. I'm really not in the mood, which says something.

Rather than go back to the office, I decide to finish work at home, on the balcony where I can enjoy the breeze.

I have a big investment to research, and for once, it has nothing to do with the underground. This is the stuff I really enjoy doing. Things that won't get me arrested, should someone like Quil decide to turn on us.

And for his sake, I really hope he doesn't.

**-BPOV-**

With the first day now behind me, I decide to relax on the patio behind my apartment. I have a call in to Jasper to ask him how things are going.

I don't need the details, but it would be nice for him to let me know he emerged from last night's bust unscathed.

I open the book of erotic poetry that I picked up at a garage sale down the road over the weekend. I've never read this sort of thing before, but it was only a quarter and the cover depicting a nude cartoon character was appealing.

My eyes widen slightly, and I'm surprised to see the first poem is by none other than e.e. cummings.

_i like my body when it is with your  
body. It is so quite a new thing.  
muscles better and nerves more.  
i like your body. i like what it does,  
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which I will  
again and again and again  
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
over parting flesh...and eyes big love-crumbs,_

_and possibly i like the thrill_  
_of under me you quite so new_

I close the book quickly and swallow. _Oh my. _I glance around, paranoid that someone will see the furious blush on my face. But of course, I'm surrounded by foliage and a wall that only a man on stilts or Shaquille O'Neal can see over.

I sheepishly open the book and begin to read some more.

I'm quite content being single, despite my brother's insistence that I should date more. Or rather, that I should date, period.

I'll admit it's been awhile. The last date I had was right before finals in college. I know, I know. Pathetic. But right after school, I moved to Miami and began the process of finding a job, so dating wasn't exactly at the top of my list.

Jasper likes to tease me about his partner, Emmett, who has made it no secret that he wouldn't mind seeing more of me. And by more, I mean all.

I shudder to think of it.

Emmett's a good guy, don't get me wrong. He's good-looking, in a football player kind of way, and fun to be around. He can make me laugh like no one else, but I'd like to have a man in my life who would rather watch Jeopardy! than Spongebob.

Not that there's anything wrong with Spongebob. I'm an elementary school teacher, for Christ's sake. Of course I can take a good cartoon now and then.

But every time I've been around Emmett, he's all cartoon and no business.

He even calls me Belly Bell. Which would be so bad if he weren't pushing thirty.

I close the book, take a sip of wine and lean my head back, staring up at the cloudless sky. The humidity level has dropped, thankfully, and the palm fronds above me are lilting in the breeze. It's nights like this that remind me why I love Florida, and why I'm so glad I let Jasper talk me into moving.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur. The kids are finally getting settled into a new school year, a new classroom. There haven't been too many complaints so far.

Except for a little boy named Jack, the classroom grump. I swear, the boy finds more things to complain about than I do. And he's six!

"Miss Swaaaan," he whines, "I tore a hole in my shirt."

"I don't want to use green, I want blue!"

I always plaster on a smile and deal with him as nicely as possible, wondering how the hell his parents manage him at home - or anywhere, for that matter.

Christ, I'm just a glorified babysitter, aren't I?

Come Friday, I'm so grateful for the end of the week that I call Jasper as soon as the last bell rings to see about maybe going to a movie and for drinks, but he informs that he's working.

I know what he's going to say before he even says it.

"No, forget it. I'm not going with Emmett," I say, realizing that I probably sound a lot like Jack at the moment.

"Aw, c'mon, Belly Bell," Jasper teases. "I promise he'll behave himself."

"Why isn't he working?" I begin separating papers into piles on my desk, which will make this teacher's homework for the weekend a lot easier.

"It's my turn tonight. He pulled last Friday night."

"Hm, yes. I can see how your job cuts into your rousing social life," I reply.

"Okay, so forget the movie. Maybe you can just meet him for a drink downtown. How's that?"

"Jazz," I mutter, laying my head back. It's then I spot a pencil precariously stuck into a ceiling tile. I snort and shake my head. "Alright, just one. But only because I hate drinking alone and I really need a distraction."

"Awesome. He'll call you." _Click._

I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it in disbelief. "What … did he seriously just hang up on me?" I ask the empty room.

I walk to the storage closet and grab a broom, then climb onto a desk chair below the pencil. One swipe and the pencil comes down, bouncing and rolling across the floor. I look at the star above the desk.

_Jack._

Figures.

Whiny little fucker.

I finally leave the school a little after five, stopping to drop off a book at the library before heading home.

My phone rings, and I know it's Emmett simply because the ringtone he set - _Sweet Home Alabama_ - begins to play.

I finish stripping and grab my phone. "What's up, 'bama boy?"

"Belly Bell! Goddamnit, I've missed you!"

I smile a little as I walk down the hall to the bathroom. "Um, thanks. So, drinks?"

"Why don't we hit Waxy's? It's been awhile since we've been."

"Yeah, sure. Waxy's it is. Eight?" I turn on the tub faucet and test the water.

"Fuck yeah. See you then, Belly Bell!"

I disconnect and sit on the edge of the tub, staring as it begins to fill.

Waxy's is a quaint Irish pub nestled downtown on the Miami River. It's the very first place I had a drink in Miami – and also the very first time I witnessed a tipsy Emmett.

Let's just say that Emmett can't really hold his liquor, especially the whiskey. He had more than a few drinks in him, and I found myself helping Jasper drag the freakin' lumberjack three blocks to their high-rise.

He also gets really handsy when he's had too much to drink, and I will never forget the look on his face when Jasper cock-blocked him for me that night. And by cock-blocked, I mean clocked his block, if you catch my drift.

Apparently, Jasper forgot about that, or he wouldn't be sending his little sister off to be alone with the man.

I have trouble finding a place to park, so I end up parking a block away near a rundown dry-cleaning shop. The sound of an approaching Metrorail train and some seagulls are all I hear as I approach the entrance. I spot Emmett right away in the lobby, and he's chatting with a blonde that doesn't look much older than I am. She laughs, and he grins. I roll my eyes.

"Belly Bell!" he says loudly. "Come meet Shanna."

_Shanna? Really?_

"Shanna, this is my best friend's baby sister, Bella. Bella, this is Shanna. She just moved here from Texas."

"Oh, well, welcome," I say, offering her a friendly smile. Maybe I should let them have at it. That would benefit me greatly in the long run.

"I was just telling her which of the malls is best, but you might know that better than me," Emmett says with a nudge.

"Um, actually, I'm not much of a shopper," I explain. "Merrick Park is the only one I've been to because I live near there."

I can tell she really doesn't give a shit about malls, but if humoring Emmett gets me to a drink faster, I'll do it.

"Right, Merrick Park," she repeats, tearing her eyes off me and looking at Emmett. "So, maybe we can meet up sometime?"

"Yeah, I'll go find us a table," I tell Emmett, walking away from the burgeoning lust-fest.

For a Friday night, the place is dead. I easily slide into a booth and pick up the drink menu. If having to decide on a drink is the hardest decision I ever have to make, I'll be good.

I order an Appletini, because really, what else would a teacher have?

Emmett finally joins me, but not before proudly announcing he was successful in his endeavor to land a date with Shanna from Texarkana.

"Jealous?" he asks, wiggling his brows.

"Oh, definitely," I answer, scanning the dinner menu. "My heart is so battered right now."

"Aw, chin up, Belly Bell! You'll find your true love someday."

"But I was set on you, Em. Really, how can I go on?" I say dryly just as the server returns. "Can I get a Waxyburger, extra onion?"

Emmett gapes at me. "You don't like onion, Bell-"

"Correction. I never said I don't like it. I just don't eat it. But tonight, I'm going to."

"Er, okay. So, do you think your true love will be attracted to that?"

I stare at him before breaking into laughter. "For being so smart, you sure can be dense."

He sticks out his bottom lip, but recovers nicely once his Guinness arrives.

This is how we spend the evening, trading barbs and me trying to make sure he doesn't drink too much. There's no way in hell I can handle Drunk Emmett on my own.

It's just a little after eleven when I've had enough. Unlike Emmett, I can hold my liquor, and I can pace myself. I've had two martinis and four glasses of water. Emmett, on the other hand, has had four glasses of Guinness and a shot of whiskey. That's minimal on his drinking scale, and I'm kinda proud of him.

As we walk out, he slings his arm around my shoulder. I offer him a stick of gum, but he declines.

"Oh, Belly Bell. If only you and I could've worked out. Damn, I bet you're a little tiger in the-"

"Oh my God," I say, cutting him off. I push him away in disgust. "Don't you ever say shit like that to me again. Ugh. Gross!"

He starts laughing, so hard that I'm afraid he might lose the giant cow he just had for dinner.

"Whatever," I huff. "I'm going home."

"Wait, wait. Don't walk away mad," he calls out, laughter in his voice. I hear his feet jogging after me, and his arm is around my shoulder again. "I'm sorry. You're right, that was uncalled for. Jesus, Jasper would hang me by the balls if he knew I said that."

"Don't worry, I'll tell him," I say, smiling a little.

Once we get to my car, I offer to drop him at his high-rise, but he insists he'll be okay to walk, so I let him. I'm not sure T-Rex would fit inside my little car anyway.

I lock my doors before turning out of the parking lot. Navigating downtown Miami is not an easy task, and it's even worse at night. It's no surprise when I find myself circling the same block twice before finally figuring out where to turn.

Except then I end up right back where I started, underneath the transit line near Waxy's.

"Fuck," I mutter, grabbing my phone. I'm trying to pull up the map service when I hear shouting.

I double-check that the doors are locked and glance around. To my right, not six feet away, stand two tall guys. One has cropped black hair, and his tanned skin tells me that he's likely Miami born and bred. He also looks really young. Younger than me.

The other guy is maybe an inch or two shorter, with dirty blond hair. It's hard to make out their features, even with the glow of the towering high-rises and streetlamps.

My eyes widen when I see the shorter guy hand the other guy a money bag. He opens it and lifts it to his face as if he's sniffing the contents. A second later, he nods.

His eyes flash to me. I quickly look back down at my phone, trying to pinpoint how the hell I'm supposed to get out of here.

The two guys begin to walk away, and I breathe out a sigh of relief, but I'm fed up with the map not working, so I pull away from the curb and turn at the next corner.

In the shadow of the tall building I'm driving next to, I fail to see the figure as it darts out in front of me, as if he's going to stop me, but it's too late.

My car hits the man with a sickening crunch, and I scream as he crashes into the windshield and flies off the hood, rolling to a stop several feet away. I hit my brakes, a sharp pain working up through my foot from the force of it.

Tears are streaming down my face as I stare through the shattered windshield.

The man's body is twisted into an unnatural pose and he's motionless, lying there in the middle of the one-way street.

I think I've just killed someone.

**-EPOV-**

"Fuck. What the fuck?" I yell, searching for my ringing phone.

I finally locate it and glance at the time as I answer.

"It's three fucking a.m.!" I shout into the phone. "What's so-"

"Stephen's dead," Tanya says, but she's sobbing so loudly that I'm not sure I understood correctly.

"Tanya, calm down." I sit up and rub my eyes with my free hand. "Take a deep breath."

She sniffles, and I wait patiently for her to gather herself.

"Now, what's wrong?"

"Stephen's dead," she repeats, and I realize I hadn't misunderstood.

I stand quickly and head to the closet. "Where are you?"

"I'm with my parents at home," she whispers. "Can you come?"

"I'm on my way," I answer, already tugging on the first pair of jeans I grabbed. "What happened?"

"He got hit by a car," she wails.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** It's coming :)

Thank you so, so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. Was going to post this last week, but a little storm named Isaac kept me on the busy side. So, here it is :) Remember when we last left Bella, she was in deep doo-doo for having hit the youngest Denali with her car...

Thanks to Dinx and Ovie!**  
**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Four**

**-BPOV-**

I'm sitting in the back of a police cruiser with my eyes closed. I can't bear to watch the scene around me any longer. It's like something out of one of those damn crime shows my dad always watched.

I never could figure out why he watched them when he lived it every single day.

My Corolla is totaled, but after turning it into a killer, I wouldn't want to drive it again anyway. It's currently sitting where I left it when I got out of the car. Even the door is still wide open.

I called 911 before I left the car, and didn't touch the man when I got to him. Everyone knows you aren't supposed to move an accident victim if they aren't in further danger. I didn't need my cop father to teach me that. But in this case, it was obvious there was nothing I could do for him, anyway.

I was sitting on my knees next to his lifeless body when the first police car arrived. Then two more showed, and before I knew it, the whole block was teeming with flashing lights and sirens.

I was moved away from the man, who was declared dead, and sat on the curb for awhile, my head between my knees. I had felt like puking since the second the man left the hood of my car.

A detective handed me a bottle of water. I greedily drank it down, then rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, hoping to wipe away the images burned there.

She asked me if there was anyone I needed to call, and I gave her Jasper's number.

He still hasn't arrived, and it's been at least a half hour since he was called.

I was questioned twice and took a Breathalyzer test and one of those field sobriety tests before they put me in the car, away from the circling media. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't even tipsy. The results of both tests showed that. I told them that I didn't see the man, he just appeared out of nowhere. Anyone could have hit him.

The door to the cruiser opens, but it isn't my brother. It's the detective.

"Is there anyone else I can call for you?" she asks.

I rattle off Emmett's number.

It occurs to me that he's probably passed out by now, and if he's not, he's really in no condition to come down here and hold my hand.

The detective steps away and I hear her speaking into the phone. From the sounds of her replies, it's clear that Emmett is awake and at least somewhat coherent.

"He's on his way," she says to me, crouching down.

"Am I going to be arrested?" I ask, pretty much resigned to the possibility that my future just went out the window – all because I couldn't work a fucking GPS system on my phone.

She smiles, and it only mildly puts me at ease.

"I don't think so," she answers.

I sigh and lay my head back against the seat.

"Miss Swan, it was an accident. Two witnesses have said he darted out in front of you, and you were going the speed limit. The skid marks from when you hit your brakes show that. You've been nothing but honest, and everything is working in your favor right now. I don't think you have anything to worry about, but it's out of my hands at this point."

"Where is she?" I hear Emmett's loud mouth. Seriously, how can this guy function as an undercover cop when he's so freaking loud?

The detective rises, motioning for me to get out of the car.

Emmett spots me right away and hurries over, swooping me into his arms. I feel safe and protected – and like I'm going to hurl.

He pulls back and cups my face in his hands. "Are you okay, Belly Bell?"

I shake my head, tears pricking the corner of my eyes. "I just wanna go home."

He crushes me to his chest, hiding my face when the sheet-covered body is pushed by us and loaded into the back of the coroner's van.

"Can she go?" Emmett asks the detective.

"She's free to go. We have her information should we need to be in touch."

Emmett leads me away, and I pause beside my Corolla. The car has served me well since my dad gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday. Losing it is almost like losing a piece of him, and the thought of that makes my knees buckle.

"Whoa, sweetheart," Emmett says, tightening his grip on me. "Is there anything in there you need?"

I shake my head and he leads me to his giant truck, which I've always called The Beast, simply because you pretty much need a stepladder to get into the thing.

He hoists me up and into the seat. I quickly fasten my seatbelt, keeping my eyes glued to my purse in my lap.

When Emmett gets in, I glance at him. "She tried to call Jasper, but she had to leave a voicemail."

Emmett buckles his seatbelt and looks at me. "He may be out of range, darlin'. There's no telling where they might have sent him tonight."

When he starts to pull away, I reach for his arm. "Are you okay to drive?"

He snorts. "I'm fine, Bella."

"I figured you'd be passed out," I say with a shrug, glad when the blitz of flashing lights is behind us as we leave the scene.

"You think so highly of me," he replies with a smirk.

I yawn and lay my head against the window.

"So, um…" he starts, but I cut him off, not wanting to talk about it.

"Maybe later," I say.

As we drive, he keeps glancing in my direction. I know he wants to talk about it, but I just can't.

My phone rings and I quickly retrieve it from my purse.

"Jazz?"

"Bella! What the fuck? Where are you?"

"I'm with Em. He's taking me home."

"Jesus Christ. I'm so sorry, Bella. I've been tied up at the marina all night, and my phone was on the charger in the truck. Are you okay?"

I squeeze my eyes shut when they start to water. "No," I choke out. "I need you, Jazz."

"I'm on my way to your place right now, kiddo. How close are you?"

I look out the window just as we pass by the Merrick Park mall I had told Shanna from Texarkana about earlier in the evening.

That seems like forever ago.

Before I killed someone.

"I'll be home in about ten minutes," I tell him.

"I'll be there. Let me talk to Em."

I hold the phone toward Emmett.

"I'm here," he says.

I tune out the rest of his conversation and before I know it, we're pulling onto my street. Jasper's already parked out front, leaning against his truck as we approach.

I catch a sob in my throat when I see him, and unbuckle my seatbelt when Emmett rolls to a stop. Jasper quickly opens the door and pulls me out and into his arms. I collapse against him, sobbing, not caring that it's well after two a.m. and the neighbors are all sleeping – or trying to.

I head straight to the bedroom, not bothering to change before I throw myself into bed. I can't sleep. Whenever I close my eyes, all I see is _him_ - the man whose family is probably also awake, grieving the loss of their son, brother, lover, friend.

Jasper is on the phone in the other room. I have no idea who he could be talking to at three a.m., but I assume it's work related.

At this point, I just want to forget, even though the sights and sounds of what happened will forever stick with me.

For Christ's sake, I could even _feel_ it.

I'll probably never get a decent night of sleep again. And somehow, that seems like good punishment.

**-EPOV-**

It's nearly five a.m. and I've just now gotten Tanya to fall asleep. The Denali family doctor passed me a sedative that I managed to sneak into her system via a glass of milk.

I make my way downstairs to where her parents are sitting in the office.

Eleazar pays no attention to me when I enter the room. Instead, he's staring off into space, a half-empty glass of scotch in his hand.

Carmen is lying on a sofa, her eyes closed. I move toward her and pick up a throw from a nearby chair, draping it over her. She opens her eyes and offers me a smile.

"Thank you, Edward."

"Tanya's finally asleep," I say, taking a seat. "Any luck getting to Marcus or Rose?"

"No," Eleazar answers, still not looking anywhere but into the void.

Marcus and Rose left for Italy two days ago, and it's not unusual to go several days without hearing from either of them when they leave on one of their trips. They both have a mutual love of shutting out the rest of the world while they do whatever it is they do.

Eleazar's phone rings and he quickly snatches it up. He doesn't even bother to say hello, but after a moment, he says "I see" and then disconnects.

"They've let the girl go." He finishes off his drink and grabs the bottle, pouring more into the glass.

His comment causes Carmen to swiftly sit up. She glares at him. "What do you mean they've let her go?"

"It was an accident, plain and simple."

I lean forward, clasping my hands between my knees. I have a feeling this is going to get interesting.

Carmen's expression darkens and she looks at me, then at her husband. "Well, that just won't do. She killed our son."

"I'm aware of that," Eleazar replies, rocking back in his chair.

"What are we going to do about it?"

He says nothing, and I keep my eyes on Carmen. She's always been the most level-headed of all of us, so it surprises me that she seems so intent on payback for her son's accidental death. But then, the ugly seems to come out of everyone when they're grieving.

I don't know much about what happened. Eleazar told me when I arrived that Stephen was downtown, alive until he wasn't. I have a sneaky suspicion that there's more to the story, but I'm not going to press. Not right now.

"Eleazar," Carmen says, her voice edged with anger. "He was our baby!"

"Goddamnit, Carmen! I know this! Let me think!" he shouts, standing so quickly that his chair flies back against the wall.

Carmen turns her gaze to me. "Edward, can you help us?"

I stare at her in disbelief. "Uh, I'm not sure what you expect me to do, Carmen."

Surely she wasn't asking me to-

"Kill the girl." Carmen says this as if it's expected. "If the goddamn pigs aren't going to do anything, then we sure as hell will. She can't get away with taking an innocent life!"

I let out a short laugh, causing both of them to glare at me.

"Something the matter?" Eleazar asks me.

"No, sir." Just that you and yours are a bunch of fucking hypocrites, that's all.

"Alright, forget it," Carmen says, getting to her feet. "Your father will be disappointed that you've turned out to be such a weakling."

"Carmen, that's enough," Eleazar tells her.

She blows by me and the door slams, rattling an old painting on the wall.

"Forgive her," Eleazar begins. "She's grieving, still in shock. Once she gets some sleep, she'll be fine."

He holds up the bottle of scotch, and I shake my head.

"What about you?" I ask. "Are you seriously thinking about taking that girl's life?"

He moves around the desk and perches atop the edge of it, swirling the liquid around in his glass.

"I think you've been around long enough to know that we believe in an eye for an eye, son."

"But if it was an accident-"

He cuts me off. "The cops around here are hillbillies, better suited to hand out parking tickets down at the convention center. This girl, this … Isabella Swan, she ran over my son. Accident or not, she shouldn't be allowed to go about her life as if nothing ever happened."

The fax machine in the corner beeps, signaling an incoming fax.

"Ah, answers have arrived." Eleazar crosses the room and picks up a stack of papers, holding them up for me to see. "From my buddy down at the station."

He sits in the chair next to me and looks them over. When he offers them to me, I take them and glance down at the top sheet.

_Isabella Swan, DOB 09/13/86, 4889 Palmetto Pine Way (garage apt), Coral Gables._

"She was drinking," I mumble, seeing her statement on the second page.

"Hm." Eleazar is staring off into space again. "Perhaps now you'll understand why it's unbelievable the cops haven't arrested her."

The statement says that Isabella Swan had two drinks at a nearby bar. Two drinks is hardly enough to impair a person, unless this Swan girl is the size of a toddler, but I don't say this to Eleazar.

I sigh and hand the papers back to him. "Witnesses say he's to blame."

Eleazar looks at me. "I don't recall your father ever instilling in you the fault of giving people benefit of the doubt."

I smirk. No, my father certainly never did that. But I like to think that in this instance, he'd be okay with it.

The door to the room flies open and Carmen comes in, moving into our line of sight.

"I've spoken with Benjamin. He says he'll take care of it."

My mouth drops open, but all I manage to release is a gust of air.

"Christ, Carmen." Eleazar stands. "You need to get some sleep."

"I'm not going to sleep until that little bitch pays for taking Stephen away from us."

"I'll take care of it," I say quickly.

They both look at me, and a slow smile spreads across Carmen's face. "I knew you'd see it our way."

I don't. Not at all, I want to say. Eleazar is right. I've been around long enough to know they – _we_ – believe in an eye for an eye, but this girl will pay for it every day of her life as it is. That would be punishment enough for anyone.

I know, because I live with it myself. The sights and sounds, even the smell, when someone's life is snuffed out in front of you can hardly be forgotten.

"Your first job," Eleazar says, offering me a glass. I shake my head. "How do you think you'll handle it?"

"I don't know," I reply coolly. "I'll need to observe her first. Judging by where she lives, I'd gather there's probably a pool at her home. Maybe accidental drowning."

The grin hasn't left Carmen's face. She seems to be beside herself with glee now that her plan for revenge is falling into place.

"Do you wish to keep this between us?" Eleazar asks. "I'm sure your father would be-"

"No, don't tell him anything," I answer. "I'd rather not have him breathing down my neck while I'm working."

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and go to the notepad, quickly typing in Isabella Swan's address so that I don't forget it.

I pick up the report again and scan it.

_Occupation: School teacher_

Jesus Christ.

I'm a monster.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** See you next Sunday... I promise :)

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

As always, kudos to Dinx and Ovie, the butter to my bread...or whatever.**  
**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Five**

**-BPOV-**

Saturday.

I usually love Saturdays. It's the one day of the week that I get things done when school is in session. Shopping, visiting the library, going to South Beach. I can cram it all into a glorious Saturday.

Today, however, I'm sitting in the living room of my little apartment watching the rain fall.

There definitely won't be any beach-going today. If I even felt like it.

"Bella?"

I glance at Jasper, who actually did go out this morning, if only to retrieve the food I couldn't. He returned several minutes ago, mumbling about the rainy season as he carried in at least a half dozen reusable bags filled with groceries.

"You drink two percent, right?" He holds up a half gallon of milk and I nod, turning my attention back to the raindrops as they splash into the pool.

"Thank God. I tried to call, but…" He sighs and retreats. I look at my phone sitting on the coffee table and see the light blinking.

_Oops._

Clearly I'm going to be good for absolutely shit over the next few days. I didn't get an ounce of sleep last night. I had let my thoughts move from the dead to the living, wondering about the family of the man I killed.

I know it was an accident, but that doesn't make me feel any better.

Jasper's been great. He hasn't brought it up, but I know he will soon. I think he's just giving me time to process. How does one actually process this sort of thing? It's not as if I can just wipe my memory clean of it.

What if the man had kids? I don't know his age or his name, but he was young. And he had been pretty decent looking. Or at least, I think he had been. It was hard to tell given that half of his face had to be scraped off the road.

I shudder, and Jasper picks that exact moment to walk into the room.

"Cold?" he asks, reaching for the throw draped over my favorite chair.

"No," I mutter, watching as he sets a cup of coffee on the table.

He takes his own and sits down across from me, and we sit in silence for awhile, listening to the rain. Jasper's fiddling with his phone, typing furiously for a minute before he clears his throat.

_And here it comes…_

"I got an email from the crisis counselor at the office. She said you should come in and see her."

_Crisis._ Is this a crisis? I would categorize a mass shooting or a bank robbery as a crisis. This? Maybe not so much.

"I think you should," he continues. "She can help you, Bella."

"I don't think so," I reply. "Maybe she should redirect her efforts to the victim's family."

He says nothing, just turns the BlackBerry around and around in his hand.

"Who was he?" I ask, not giving it a second thought. I have to know. _Want_ to know.

"Um." He looks at me for a few seconds and then down at his phone. "His name was Stephen Denali."

Stephen Denali.

Stephen … Denali.

Stephen. Denali.

"How old?"

Jasper sighs. "He was twenty-four."

My stomach twists. He was so young. My age.

"There's something you should know, Bella. About him, I mean."

I meet his gaze. _Did he come back to life? Please?  
_

I'd give up everything for that to be true.

"He apparently made some sort of drug deal right before the accident. He had two thousand dollars and a loaded pistol on him, and one of the witnesses at the scene said she saw it go down."

I stare at him. Was that what I'd seen? A drug deal? Was he the one who caught me watching him?

"I saw it," I mumble.

Jasper sits forward. "You saw what? The deal?"

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't know what it was at the time. When I was trying to figure out the GPS on my phone, I pulled over. I saw a couple of guys, and one of them handed the other something."

"Did you get a good look at them?"

I shrug. I'm not sure I saw enough to point out the guy in a picture or a lineup, if that's where my brother is headed with this.

"Bella, this is important."

"I don't know," I say, with a little more acidity than necessary.

"Will you come to the station with me? To look at some photos?"

"Damnit, Jasper. The guy's dead. What's the use now?"

"Because there's still one guy out there, Bella, and guess what? He knows your name now. It's been in the news."

_Oh._

"Stephen Denali's car was found a few blocks away in the opposite direction. If he saw you watching the deal, he might have been inclined to stop you."

"By throwing himself in front of my car?" I ask, my voice rising an octave. "That's crazy."

"He was a dealer. They generally don't like it when someone sees their dirty work. And did you miss the part where I said he had a gun? Bella, if he had managed to get you to stop…" His voice trails off, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

I shake my head, blinking away tears. "Jazz, we don't know that. It might not have been him. Lots of people carry guns."

"If I show you a picture of him, do you think you can recognize him?"

"I really don't want to see-"

"Bella-"

"Jasper!" I stand, going to the kitchen. I open the fridge and stare into it, but I'm not looking for food. I just want the distraction, anything to take my mind off things.

"Bella, this is extremely important."

I push the door closed and stare at a magnet I picked up in a cheesy tourist store the first time I visited South Beach after moving here. It's a little rubber palm tree with the words South Beach painted on in rainbow colors.

"Jazz, I killed someone," I whisper. "It doesn't matter if he was scum or a prince. He was a human being, and now he's gone because of me."

Jasper grips my shoulder and spins me around to face him. "Bella, it wasn't your fault. I know you feel like it is, but it wasn't. And your big brother would feel a lot better about things if you would humor him and look at some pictures. Can you do that?"

I stare at the cross hanging on his necklace and slowly nod. "Okay."

"Whenever you want to go," he says, pulling me to him. I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly.

"His family?" I ask, stepping back.

Jasper grimaces.

"What?"

_Oh, God. He has … had kids._

"The Denalis are pretty well-known around here. They do a lot of charity work, and the father runs some international trading company."

"Was he married?"

"No. No wife, no kids. Just his parents and some siblings."

I fold my arms. It's a small comfort that some kid somewhere won't be growing up without his dad, even if that dad was a low-life.

"We can go," I say, moving around him. "Just let me change my shoes."

I kick off my ratty flip-flops and stick my feet into another pair. A pair that won't send me falling to my ass should they get wet.

Twenty minutes later, Jasper pulls into the secure parking garage at the police station. He mentioned on the way over that he and Emmett would share driving duties for me until I can get another car.

If I have my way, I'll never drive again.

Once we're inside the station, he leads me to the detective that I spoke to last night. They share a few minutes of cop speak before ushering me into a small room.

Before I know it, there's a thick binder hitting the table in front of me, and Jasper takes a seat to my right while the detective takes the seat to my left.

"Miss Swan-"

"Bella," I correct her.

"Bella," she says, smiling. "Take your time looking through these photos. If you see anyone who looks familiar to you, flag that page."

I stare at the face of an older man on the first page, but I know right away it isn't him. After flipping through several dozen pages, I sigh.

"What if the guy's never been arrested? His picture may not even be in here."

"Then we'll go to Plan B," she says. "You describe him as best you can, and we have our sketch artist draw him up."

I'm left alone for several minutes when Jasper and the detective disappear. It isn't lost on me that they've been sharing sly glances, and I wonder if Jasper has a new friend he hasn't told me about.

After fifteen minutes of going through the binder, I've just about had it, but I know I should plow through to the end.

Jasper returns and places a cup of coffee in front of me. "Nothing yet?"

I shake my head. "No, and so many of these guys look alike."

Jasper chuckles. "We call that the Miami Effect."

I lift a brow as I look at him. "What the hell is that?"

"After a guy lives here for awhile, he tends to look like he belongs."

I'm about a third of the way through the binder when I see him, and I know right away it's him.

I gasp and sit up straight to get a better look at the slide. "Here."

Jasper gets to his feet and pulls the binder over. "You're sure?"

"I'm positive. I'd remember that face anywhere. When I saw him, I thought he looked really young."

Jasper looks at the card placed below the guy's photo. "Yeah, I'd say. He just turned twenty."

The detective joins us a moment later and lays a photo in front of me.

Stephen Denali.

"Is this the guy that saw you last night?"

I take a deep breath and nod. "Yeah, that's him."

Jasper and the detective nod at one another.

"And here's our other one," Jasper tells her, sliding the binder to her.

I look at the card in the corner of the page.

_Jacob Black._

**-EPOV-**

I sit outside the property that Bella calls home for about a half hour before I finally decide to walk around the place.

It's an enormous old Florida home situated on a corner. I can only see the roof from the street. The property is encased with a wall that's at least ten feet high, and the wrought iron gates have an intricate design with the letter "J" in the middle. Luckily for me, the gates are open at the moment, no doubt because there's an appliance service truck sitting in the driveway.

I don't want to get busted for loitering, so I casually stroll the sidewalk and follow it around the corner. I had Googled the address before I left the office, wanting to get a feel for the layout. There's an alley behind the property, and I figure that will be my safest bet for making entry.

I glance around and walk to the entrance behind the house. There are two gates, and this one is padlocked.

_Fuck._

Little Miss Isabella no doubt feels safe behind these walls, in her garage apartment that's probably a touch bigger than my office – which isn't small by any stretch.

I look through the gate and at the backside of the garage, which appears to be big enough for three or four cars. There's a winding staircase coming down from a balcony above, which I assume is the apartment. The balcony looks homey, with a few plants and some wicker furniture. Below that, there's a patio with even more plants and furniture, a running fountain, a Koi pond and a few wooden Adirondack chairs spread around in the small grassy area. It's a reading garden. I know because my mom has one, and she hardly uses the damn thing even after hiring someone to design it.

_Cozy._

I move to the next gate, which opens up from a sidewalk that runs from the main house. There's a utility shed right inside the gate, which, curiously enough, has no padlock. I glance around before I pull on a black leather glove and flip the latch. It opens with no trouble.

_Bingo._

It's nearly six in the evening, and there are enough trees around to allow for some extra shading as I step onto the property. Before I close the gate, I pull out the dog whistle I brought and blow into it.

No giant attack dogs appear, but there is a lot of barking from nearby properties.

I quietly close the gate behind me and slide between the utility shed and the wall, making my way toward the garden.

My dad would be proud to know that I'm using the latest toy developed by Volturi International.

I hold up the device, which looks like a price scanner, no bigger than a credit card, and it beeps twice, letting me know that there are no functioning security devices, such as cameras or alarm lasers within fifty yards of where I'm standing.

No cameras? That's a surprise. Especially considering they ignorantly left a back gate unlocked.

I step from behind the shed and into the garden. I scan the back of the garage, and my eyes sweep along every nook to make sure the device was correct.

I see no cameras of any sort. _Interesting._

There are no windows on the first floor of the building, and I'm slightly disappointed that I won't be able to peek inside and look at their toys.

I have no idea if the girl is at home, so I take the staircase slowly and easily, trying not to alert her to my presence if she is.

Once I reach the balcony, I look through the panes of the glass door and see a sitting area. I can't see beyond that, so I decide to do the logical thing and just knock.

My knuckles rap on the door gently at first, and when there's no movement from inside, I knock a little harder. Still nothing.

She's not home. Or else, she's napping. Or in the shower.

I pick the lock with a bobby pin and the door opens with a squeak. I grimace and freeze.

When it's apparent I'm not going to get caught, I step in and pull the door closed.

I'm hit with the overwhelming scent of something flowery. All of the women in my life could no doubt tell me right off the bat what it is, but I have no clue.

I pull the cord on a floor lamp to illuminate the living room. There's a bohemian vibe to the place. It doesn't really scream Florida, like most places here do, but it definitely tells me who I'm dealing with.

A schoolteacher who likes colors that clash, candles and funky figurines.

Seriously, there are dozens of candles and collectibles of all kinds lining shelves and tables. This girl obviously has the patience of a saint if she manages to keep this place free of dust.

And it appears she does.

I shake my head and move on. I scan the titles of the books piled up on her coffee table.

She also appears to like Art Deco, history, and poetry. On closer inspection, I notice it isn't just any poetry. The book lying on top – with a red ribbon hanging out – is erotic poetry.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I pick the book up, flipping to the bookmarked page.

___He is more than a hero,  
He is a god in my eyes_ -  
The man who is allowed  
To sit beside you - he  
Who listens intimately  
To the sweet murmur of  
Your voice, the enticing  
Laughter that makes my own  
Heart beat fast. If I meet  
You suddenly, I can't  
Speak - my tongue is broken;  
A thin flame runs under  
My skin; seeing nothing,  
Hearing only my own ears  
Drumming, I drip with sweat;  
Trembling shakes my body  
And I turn paler than  
Dry grass. At such times  
Death isn't far from me.

It isn't very often that I find myself speechless, but at this moment, I am. It appears Isabella Swan is a dreamer. I smirk and lay the book down, then glance around some more.

There are a few framed photos on one bookshelf, so I step over to take a look at them – at her.

There don't seem to be any recent photos of the girl, given that she's twenty-three. These photos all appear to be older, photos of her as a teenager. She's only alone in one of them, and it looks as if she's standing in the water at South Beach. She's hugging herself, her back to the camera, and her long, wavy hair flying loosely in the breeze.

She's with a guy in a few of the others, and it dawns on me that I've seen her before.

She was the girl I saw outside Johnny Rocket's several days ago.

_Oh, Christ._

The smiling girl who looked like she didn't have a care in the world.

The smile that made me smile.

_Fuck._

I really am a monster.

Just then, I hear keys in the front door, and I briefly panic.

I quickly pull the cord on the lamp and the room falls into shadows. I have two options, I know. I can sneak out and rethink my approach, or I can get it over with now.

She's in another room. I can hear her flip-flops squeaking as she moves about. A cupboard door opens, closes. I use the opportunity to slink further back and finally take a seat in a corner chair.

And wait.

A minute passes, then two. Finally, I hear her approaching. There's barely enough light in the room to make out her silhouette, but I can see she's holding a glass of wine.

She has her back to me as she pulls the cord on the very same lamp I just turned off.

I suck in a deep breath, and she turns, her eyes widening when they land on me.

"Hello, Isabella."

The glass in her hand shatters as it hits the tiled floor.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** Yeah, yeah. I know y'all like your cliffies.

Poem is "He is More than a Hero" by Sappho, who I was introduced to by my college humanities professor.

See you next Sunday.

P.S. I've been informed that P&S is nominated for Fic of the Week over at The Lemonade Stand. If you're the voting type, you can vote for up to five stories. There are some fantastic fics in the running this week! The address is tehlemonadestand. net


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. And to whomever nominated P&S for Fic of the Week at The Lemonade Stand, thanks bunches!

Major kudos to Ovie and Dinx :)**  
**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Six**

**-BPOV-**

I am so drained.

Jasper drops me off at the front gate and I punch my code in, squeezing through once there's enough room. I just want to curl up on the sofa with a glass of wine and forget the last twenty-four hours.

I trudge up the stairs, trying to juggle the new bottle of wine in my hand and the "grieving process" packet that Jasper forced me to take. I drop my keys. In the comedy of errors that is my life, I stoop to pick up the keys only to lose the packet, and then my purse slides off my shoulder, hitting the ground with a thud. Well, at least it wasn't the wine.

"Fuck you, life," I mumble, unlocking the door before I pick up my stuff.

By the time I finally make it inside, I'm frazzled. I throw my keys and purse on the counter in the kitchen and immediately seek out the corkscrew and a glass.

I have some papers to grade and lesson plans to look over, but right now, I seriously just need to relax. Maybe draw a nice bath and read. I can do homework tomorrow.

I walk into the living room and pull the cord on the lamp, thinking about which book I want to delve into. I could finish that book of erotic poetry, but-

"Hello, Isabella."

It takes a second for my brain to register that there's a strange man sitting in the corner, in my chair, his eyes on me. Once I realize he's really, truly in my living room and not some fucked up apparition, the glass slips from my fingers and shatters when it hits the floor.

"Shit!" I yell. I fly out of the room, but before I even make it to the front door, a strong hand grabs my arm and whirls me around, pinning me to the wall, my back to his front. I try to scream, but his other hand covers my mouth. I'm strangely aware that he smells like leather, but then I realize that the hand over my mouth is gloved.

_Oh crap!_

"You need to make this easy on yourself," he says close to my ear, and I flinch at the smoothness of his voice. His breath is hot, and it hits my cheek like the warm air does when I first walk out into a summer morning.

"Now, when I release you, you'll play nice. This isn't a request, Isabella."

I swallow hard and nod as best I can, what with my head being sandwiched between a large hand and a hard wall.

He removes his hand from my mouth, but keeps a tight grip on my arm. I say nothing as he pushes me back toward the living room before he finally releases me.

"Have a seat," he says, as if this is _his_ home and _I'm _the guest.

I take a seat on the sofa, albeit on the very edge, and watch as he locks the door to the balcony.

There's a charge in the air, and it's stifling. I wonder if Jacob Black sent this man to kill me. I don't know why that comes to mind, but it does. I certainly don't have any other enemies in the world. This guy knows my name, but I know I've never seen him before. I'd remember a guy who looks like him, with chestnut-colored hair in disarray and a jaw that could classify as the Eighth Wonder of the World.

_Wait...why am I thinking these things? Stop it!_

"Good girl," he says, walking around me. He takes a seat on the coffee table, inches in front of me, and clasps his hands together between his knees as he studies my face. "Did I hurt you?"

I shake my head, though I'm not quite sure why. He didn't hurt me physically, but he sure did a number on my mind. And why would it matter anyway? Hurt me now, kill me later.

"Aren't you curious why I'm here?"

I push myself back, practically curling into the sofa, and he chuckles.

"Silent treatment. Okay, that's fine. I can deal with that."

I'm desperately trying not to look him in the eye. I don't want him to see how fucking scared I am, but I allow myself a quick glance, and what I find only mildly puts me at ease. He doesn't look like a killer at all. Not when I look into his green eyes. The emotions in them are startling, and I can't seem to _not _look at him, trying to get an idea of what the hell he wants with me.

"Isabella Marie Swan," he says, and the way he says my name is more like a lover would say it than a maniac. He speaks softly, but I can't let my guard down. I won't.

"School teacher?" he asks, his eyes settling on mine.

I nod.

"What level?"

I'm suddenly aware that my throat is really dry. "Second grade," I whisper.

A crease briefly appears between his brows. "Second grade," he repeats. "Do you like teaching, Miss Swan? Is that what they call you?"

I nod again.

"Hm." He stands, causing me to fold in on myself even further. He pauses, looking down at me, but I can't tear my eyes off his gloved hand. I wait for it to reach into his jacket, into some inside pocket, and brandish a gun that he'll put to my head...

I shudder. "Please…" I whisper, pushing myself across the length of the sofa and toward the corner.

"Calm down," he says, moving to the same chair he was sitting in before. He sits back and crosses a leg, resting it on a knee, all the while keeping his eyes on me.

"Calm down," I repeat, laughing a little. "Right."

I think I see a twitch of amusement, but that might be too much to hope for. Then again, maybe he's the type of guy who gets off on making his victims feel at ease.

"Do you have any family, Isabella?"

And maybe he also likes to get to know his victims…

I shake my head, and he looks at me in disbelief, one brow arching.

"No family at all?"

"No," I say, looking at him. I'm not about to give him any ammunition.

"That's … odd," he comments, but not to me. His eyes flit around, taking in our surroundings. "You like to collect dust catchers."

"Why are you here?" I finally ask. _Hello, Bella's brain, welcome to the party._

He forms a steeple with his hands, tapping the tips of his fingers together. He looks at me, and I stare back at him in defiance.

"Did Jacob Black send you?" I ask.

"I have no idea who that is, but I'm intrigued by your question," he responds. "Explain."

I let out a laugh. Good grief, the guy is methodical, isn't he?

"I don't think I will," I answer. "If you say you don't know him, that's good enough for me. But it still doesn't tell me why you're here."

"Stephen Denali," he replies, and the words are void of emotion, as if the name simply means nothing to him.

My stomach lurches. I can literally feel all the blood draining from my face before I'm on my feet and running to the bathroom, hitting the toilet just in time to lose what little contents are in my stomach.

"Jesus Christ," he says, coming into the tiny room.

Of course he followed me, and now he's watching me dry-heave and sputter and nearly choke to death, which might be an easier out than what he likely has planned for me. Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I rest my forehead against my forearm on the seat as I sob. I feel him near me, towering over my sad little crumpled body. The toilet flushes, but I didn't do it, and then I hear water running in the sink.

"Isabella, drink this."

_You can't be serious._

"If you're going to kill me, just get it over with," I say to the floor.

"Given that you obviously haven't eaten anything recently, I suspect that you'll kill yourself soon enough," he replies. He sounds irritated, and I finally lift my head and look up at him.

There's no emotion on his face as he offers me the cup of water. I can't find it in myself to care that the cup he's holding is a Buzz Lightyear cup, bought for me as a joke by Jasper because I shamelessly love the _Toy Story_ movies.

I reach for it and rinse my mouth out, spitting into the toilet before I drink the rest of it.

"Can I have a moment?" I ask, staring at his shoes. They're shiny, and from the looks of it, probably cost more than a month's salary.

He hesitates, and then leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

**-EPOV-**

_Fuck!_

That was … unexpected.

If there's one thing in the world I can't stand, it's a crying woman. Never mind the fact that she vomited at the mere mention of Stephen's name.

What am I supposed to do with _that_?

She had me perplexed from the minute I pressed her body up against the wall. She was warm and soft, and my reason for being there suddenly became muddled.

_Oh, right. I'm supposed to _kill_ her._

I expected a little more fight out of her. I would have settled for some mouthing off, but she gave me the silent treatment. And who the fuck is Jacob Black? The name didn't sound familiar. I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket and fire off a text to my father. Maybe the name would sound familiar to him.

With Isabella in the bathroom, I allow myself to wander into the kitchen. Her purse and keys are lying on the counter, along with a pile of papers. The top sheet states that it's an informational packet on dealing with grief.

I'm staring at it when I hear the bathroom door click open. I quickly step into the hall, sure she's going to try to bolt, but find her standing in the hallway, gnawing on her bottom lip.

"Feel better?" My inner demons are practicing their bow-tying techniques now, ready to wrap up my balls and present them to me in pretty ribbons.

She folds her arms and glances toward the front door. I look that way, too, and move to turn the deadbolt. When I look back at her, she's staring at me, her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.

Maybe she has some fight in her after all.

"Who are you?" she asks. "If you're going to kill me, I should at least know your name."

I can give her that much.

"My name is Edward."

"Edward…" she says, trying it out.

We stand there for a minute, staring at each other, before she turns and breezes by me and into the kitchen. I'm puzzled by her. _Immensely._

She opens a door and pulls out a broom and dustpan.

"What are you doing?" I ask, silently amused at the fact that she may be contemplating using a broom as a weapon.

She says nothing as she comes toward me, pausing long enough to pluck a dishtowel off the oven door handle.

I follow her into the living room, where she kneels over the spilled wine and begins to sweep up the glass.

This girl is extremely perplexing.

"Who's Jacob Black? And why would he send someone to kill you?"

She says nothing as she wipes up the spilled wine.

It occurs to me that if Benjamin had been the one to show up here tonight, this quirky girl would already be dead.

"Isabella," I say, hoping she gets the impatience in my voice.

She leaves the wet towel on the floor and rises, turning toward the bookshelves. "If you're here because of Stephen Denali, you should know Jacob Black."

"I'm asking you," I reply. "If I knew who he was, I wouldn't be asking."

"Are you a Denali, then?" She folds her arms, and I assume she's looking at the photos.

"No."

"Sent by them?"

I move to stand behind her and she tenses. "I thought you said you don't have any family."

"I don't," she whispers. I see her swipe at her cheek.

_Fuck. More tears._

"Then who are those people?" I ask, moving an arm around her to point at a photo.

"That's … they were my family. My family's all gone."

"Dead?"

She nods.

Jesus, she's alone.

"Miss Swan," I start, taking another step closer until I'm practically flush with her. She moves forward, but I wrap my hand around her upper arm, gripping it gently. "I'm not going to kill you."

I figured she'd be relieved by that, but she seems to tense up further.

"The Denalis are very powerful. They're ruthless and controlling, and they stop at nothing to add to their cache. They believe in revenge, which is why I'm here."

"But you said-"

"I said I wasn't going to kill you," I answer.

She turns her head slightly, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. "Then what? You're supposed to fuck me up? Torture me? What?"

I have to laugh at her assumption. "No, Isabella. None of that. They did send me here to kill you, but I've decided not to."

She yanks her arm free of me and turns quickly. I catch her wrist before her fist connects with my face.

"Isabella, I can change my mind, you know." I stare intently at her, hoping she gets the hint.

"Then just go. I won't tell anyone. In fact, I'm pretty sure this is a nightmare, so I won't even remember it in the morning."

I laugh, shaking my head as I drop her arm. She is quite amusing.

"No can do. Just because_ I'm_ not going to kill you, doesn't mean you'll stay alive."

Her eyes widen slightly and she takes a step back.

"The Denalis hired someone else to … how can I put it? Dispatch you, I suppose. So, even if I walk away, it won't be long until someone else shows up, and you won't be as lucky."

"Can't you just tell them you took care of it?"

She looks genuinely frightened now, and I almost feel bad for scaring her, but she _needs_ to be scared.

"Did you miss the part where I said the Denalis are powerful? Trust me, Isabella. They'll know. And that would only make it worse for the both of us."

"Then why aren't you going to kill me? If that's what you were sent here to do-"

_Does she have no sense of self-preservation?_ "You almost sound as if you're trying to convince me to do it. Life can't be that bad for you."

"I …" She starts to speak, but her shoulders fall and she sighs. "I'm sorry I killed him, Edward. It was an accident. Don't they know that?"

Her voice holds so much sadness that I can tell she's remorseful. That wouldn't fly with them, though. "Doesn't matter. You've killed one of their own. There's a mob mentality, if you will." The double meaning of that statement is sure to be lost on her.

Her eyes snap to mine. "An eye for an eye, I get it."

I move to sit, and motion for her to do the same. She hesitates before creeping around a chair and sitting down.

"If you're not going to … _dispatch_ me, then what are you going to do?"

I'm about to do something that's considerably moronic, and just asking for even more trouble, but at this point, it's my only option.

"I have a proposition for you, Isabella. One that will benefit the both of us."

I see her fingers dig into the arms of the chair as she stares at me, waiting for me to continue.

"I can offer you an immense amount of protection, for as long as necessary, and in return, you give me freedom."

"I don't-"

"It's simple, Isabella."

"Not to me, it isn't," she replies.

I decide to just get it over with, and even as I say it, I can't believe it.

"We elope."

Her lips part, but no sound escapes. I'm not even sure she's breathing now. I'm not sure I am. It was a rash decision, but it's the only way. She wants to live – at least, I think she does – and so do I.

She's quiet, staring at me, and then she starts to laugh. The sound of it bounces off the walls, and it's so maniacal that I wonder if her little breakable trinkets will survive the onslaught of piercing laughter.

"Jesus, you're insane, aren't you?" she asks, gasping as she speaks.

And then she's off the chair in a flash, and so am I, careful not to let her out of my sight.

"This is very real," I tell her, watching as she stoops to pick up the towel.

She's still laughing as she grabs the broom and dustpan. She's completely ignoring me now, laughing to herself and mumbling about having a nightmare.

I lean against the doorway to the kitchen and watch her move around.

"They told me I'd probably have nightmares. I just didn't expect this level of dramatics," she says, but not to me. "This is fucking insane. You can wake up now, Isabella."

And then, she pushes past me as if I'm not there.

"Isabella," I say, following her into the bedroom. I'm suddenly not amused anymore. In fact, I'm rather pissed, and seriously rethinking my attempt at being humane to this girl.

Clearly, she's in a state of shock. She doesn't do well with coping, it seems.

"Isabella," I repeat. My eyes widen when she starts to pull up her shirt as if I'm not even there. I have two seconds to decide whether or not I should be a gentleman, and before I can turn my back to her, I've seen a lacy purple bra.

_Fantastic._

This is so much more than I bargained for.

I turn only when I feel her moving around, and find she's climbed into bed.

"Isabella." I fold my arms as she makes herself comfortable.

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before," she says, pulling the covers over her head.

She's quoting Edgar Allan Poe. I have officially reached the end of my fucking rope.

I stalk over to the bed and snatch the covers away from her. "Goddamnit, Isabella!"

And she begins to cry.

_Fuck._

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** Thank you again for reading :)

See you next time...


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I can't begin to thank you enough for reading, reviewing and rec'ing this story. It means a lot! I've been totally lax with review replies, and hope to change that soon! But know that I appreciate every single one of you.

Thanks, as always, to the beautiful Ovie and Dinx for being my eyes and at least one-half of my brain.

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Seven**

**-BPOV-**

A crack of thunder rattles the window, and I sit up quickly. Grey light filters in, and it's obviously morning, but I have no idea what time it is. The clock on the nightstand is flashing, which means the power went out at some point. That happens a lot in the summer here.

I sigh and fall back, pulling the comforter over my head.

My eyelids flutter shut, and I'm met with an image of green eyes.

_No._

It was a nightmare.

My head feels foggy, and my eyes tired from crying. I know I cried myself to sleep, something I haven't done since I was seventeen and missing my dad.

When another round of thunder pounds through the walls, and my heart, I sigh and push the comforter off.

The smell of coffee is wafting through the air, and it takes a minute for me to remember – I don't have a coffee pot with a timer.

My feet still when I reach the hallway. I hear a low murmur from another room, a deep voice speaking in a hushed tone.

I shake my head of it and head to the bathroom. I smile in triumph when I find the toilet seat down. Obviously, if there _was_ a man in my apartment, that wouldn't be the case.

_Take that, demon._

I do my business and brush my teeth before pulling my hair up.

I realize I should give some thought to seeing a counselor, at least a couple of times. I certainly don't want this to be a recurring problem.

I make my way to the kitchen and the murmuring stops.

There, sitting at my tiny breakfast table, where just two days ago I placed a lovely bouquet of red gladiolus, is a man.

The one with the green eyes, who said he was here to kill me, but rather than do that, he'll marry me instead.

_And to think, I could have been with Emmett._

"Good morning," he says, his voice low as he lays his BlackBerry on the table. "Sleep well?"

"What…" I blink at him, then at the mug of coffee in his hand. My eyes move to the coffee pot, where, sure enough, there's a fresh pot.

"I hope you don't mind," he says, cutting through my haze. He walks by me, faintly smelling of aftershave and … _is that pine?_

My knees threaten to buckle, and I lay a hand on the counter. He smells just like my dad.

The memories that assault me are overwhelming. My dad hugging me after I graduated middle school. My dad beaming with pride when I won the elementary spelling bee by correctly spelling _saboteur_.

"Isabella? Do you take it black or-"

"What the _fuck_," I say, staring at him. "You can't be serious!"

He clears his throat, nodding a little as he pours some coffee into my favorite mug. How the hell did he know it was my favorite? It's just an old coffee mug – my dad's. Its rim is chipped in one spot, and the handle has been glued back on more than once.

It has the Cleveland Indians logo on it, and I don't even like baseball, but I love that mug.

He's _touching_ it. Tainting it.

He holds it out to me. The man obviously has nerves of steel, because he has to know what I'd like to do with that scorching hot liquid.

I take it from him and gently set it on the counter.

"You can go," I say. "My answer is no. I'll take my chances."

A flash of lightning fills the room. He glances toward the window, then back at me.

"You really want do that," he states, folding his arms. "Take your chances? Let me tell you a story, Isabella. Have a seat."

"I'll stand, thanks."

He moves to the table and sits. He's impeccably dressed, even in a pair of dark jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. He's wearing socks, no shoes, and it dawns on me that he came here prepared.

"Did you use my shower?" I ask angrily. "_My_ shower?" I hadn't even noticed that it had been used when I was in the bathroom. Jesus, I _am_ really out of it.

"When I was eighteen," he says, ignoring my question, "I went with my father to Nassau. He said we were going to do some research for a new investment. We met up with Eleazar Denali while we were there." He pauses and looks at me evenly. "That's Stephen's father."

I back against the counter and fold my arms against my chest protectively.

"I'll spare you the details, but Eleazar had bought a million dollars worth of diamonds, and when they were delivered, they were damaged. The man who sold them was sitting there in this warehouse. Eleazar had coaxed the man to the Bahamas all the way from India. His skull was split open with a baseball bat."

"Stop," I say, not wanting to hear this. _What the hell is he trying to do?_

He continues. "You know, I was very naïve when I was a kid. My father was just my dad, and I looked up to him. But that day, in the warehouse, totally changed my view of him and Eleazar. They took turns, you know. Working on this poor guy, and all because he dared to send some damaged goods.

"He had a family. Wife, two kids. They never found his body. I'll never forget the sight of that man's brains-"

"Oh my God!" I yell, sinking to the floor. I pull my knees up and lay my head against them, trying to shake the images. "Just stop!"

He's quiet. The rain starts, and it's thrumming the window harshly. Kind of like my heart inside my ribcage right now.

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper into my knees.

"I just want you to be aware of what you'll be facing, Isabella, should you decide to be stubborn. I'm offering you some help, yet you seem quite determined to believe this is all an elaborate nightmare. Is that right?"

"Who are you?" I ask, realizing I never got a substantive answer out of him before.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he replies smoothly. "My father is Eleazar Denali's best friend. They've been, how should I say it, _working together_ since before I was born."

"And by working together, you mean…" I lift my head and look at him only to find his eyes on me.

"I think you know what I mean," he answers. "Of course, I've told you too much, and if they knew that I'd told you what happened in Nassau, well, it wouldn't be pretty."

I slowly work my way to my feet, but keep myself close to the counter. "How many people have-"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "That kind of thing is off-limits. There are a lot of things I can't tell you, Isabella. That you shouldn't know. It's better that way."

"And yet, you think I should _marry_ you to protect myself? Who will protect me from _you_?"

He chuckles, the sound of it barely audible above the thrashing of rain.

"You don't have to worry about me, Isabella."

"_Clearly_," I reply sarcastically.

He stands, and I flinch, pushing myself into the corner of the counter.

"Look, this isn't exactly a dream come true for me, either," he begins as he walks to the sink. "But it's the only way to keep you alive."

"Why do you care?" I ask, hoping he'll answer and not shut down. "You don't know me. I'm a nobody."

He shakes his head as he rinses out the mug he's been using. "Nobody is a nobody," he states. "Unless they want to be."

"But I'm nobody to _you_," I correct him.

He glances at me, then turns, mimicking my stance as he leans against the counter.

"Perhaps. However, unlike the Denalis, I don't think you deserve to die just because you made a mistake."

"A mistake!" I grip the edge of the counter as I stare at him. "It wasn't a _mistake_. It was an _accident_. There's a difference. And _perhaps _they should take a long, hard look at themselves before casting any stones!"

One corner of his mouth lifts, and my eyes widen. He's really beginning to piss me off with his cryptic behavior.

"Well, at any rate, I can't let you go now. I've told you too much." He walks to the table and picks up his phone. "Jacob Black, who is he?"

"I don't know," I answer. "He was with Stephen right before the accident."

Edward lifts a brow. "You saw them?"

I sigh and turn my back to him, leaning over the counter. "I … I guess it was a drug deal."

He's silent behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find him staring at me.

"Did you tell the cops?" he asks.

"I forgot all about it until…" I stop, realizing that if I go on, I'll have to tell him about Jasper, and there's no way I want him to know that my brother is an officer. "The cops told me they found a lot of money on him, and a gun. I had to go in and flip through some photos until I saw the guy that was with him. It was Jacob Black."

"And what makes you think this Jacob Black has it out for you?"

I swallow hard and turn to face him. "They saw me."

Edward's eyes narrow. "Who saw you?"

"Stephen and Jacob." I sigh. "Look, I was lost, okay? I pulled over to check out the map on my phone, and I happened to see them doing their business. I never would've said anything about it. I actually forgot about it until the cops told me about Stephen. My name was in the newspaper and on TV when they mentioned Stephen's death. So, I'm sure Jacob has my name now. He'll know I was the one who saw him that night."

Edward's furiously typing on his BlackBerry, but says nothing.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, forget it," Edward says, looking at me.

I stare at him in disbelief. "You're not … you wouldn't … you can't _kill_ him!"

"I won't," Edward answers.

"No, you'll just have someone do it. Like the rest of your criminally insane family."

He inhales sharply, and his eyes gloss over with anger. It sounds like a hiss, and I back to the counter again. Maybe I shouldn't have said _that_.

"You should gather some of your things. Whatever you want to take," he says roughly before walking out of the room.

"What…" I whisper, staring after him.

My eyes land on my purse, and I quickly move to it, digging for my cell phone.

_Gone._

He's cut me off.

**-EPOV-**

This has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

I've received three texts from Carmen and two from Eleazar this morning. They want to know if the girl is dead.

I have yet to reply. They'll find out soon enough, I suppose.

I really should give my father a heads up, but I'm not exactly sure what the plan is yet. I hardly got any sleep last night as every scenario played out in my head – a dozen times, and none of the ended particularly well.

"I'm not going," Isabella says, coming into the room. "I guess you'll just have to _dispatch_ me."

I hang my head, shaking it slightly. "You really have no clue."

"Why are you being so adamant?"

"I don't want to kill you!" I shout, getting to my feet. She flinches at my raised voice and backs up to the wall when I stalk toward her. I corner her, pressing my hands on the wall on either side of her head.

"I'm not afraid," she whispers, looking up at me.

I stare at her, noticing the light smattering of freckles dotting her cheeks. "You should be, Isabella. If I leave you here, someone else will arrive. He's likely to mute you in some fashion, tie you up, make you suffer. There's really no telling what he'll do. He could kidnap you and take you out to the Everglades. If you leave this house with him, no one will ever see you again… unless it's in pieces."

Her lips part as she gasps.

"I realize that leaving here with me isn't your idea of fun. That taking the name of a stranger, even for a short while, isn't something you'd like to have hanging over your head. But it beats the alternative, doesn't it? Not breathing? Rotting in the Everglades? Letting someone find you here, dead, after who knows how long? Have you ever smelled a decomposing body, Isabella? You don't want that for yourself."

Tears are sliding down her cheeks, and I feel a pang of regret, albeit a tiny one. Maybe she's finally getting the hint.

"How would marrying you solve anything?" she asks.

I back away from her and run my fingers through my hair. My eyes fall on a small Buddha statue sitting on top of a stack of books.

"Like I said, it will protect you."

"How so?"

I recall a quote from a seminar on Buddhism I attended back in college. It's the only thing I took away from the class. It seems to fit the moment. Or at the very least, fit Isabella. "There has to be evil so that good can prove its purity above it," I say.

Silence falls in the room, and when I look at her, she's staring at me again, her eyes wide.

"You … you said it will give you freedom," she finally says. "What do you mean by that?"

I shake my head. "I'm not going into that right now. My main concern is for you. The Denalis won't touch you if you have my last name, and my family will stand by us. It's going to get ugly, but you have my word. You'll survive, and a year from now, maybe less, you can move on with your life and forget we ever existed."

She scoffs. "Right. How can you be so sure they won't come after me? Or you? If your family is as tied to them as you say, they'd choose them over me."

I walk over to a bookshelf and pick up a photo. It shows a smiling Isabella wearing a police hat, and an older man I can only assume is her father. He's grinning and pointing at the hat atop her head.

"Your father?" I ask, showing her the photo.

She reaches for the frame and snatches it away from me.

"Was he a cop?"

"You didn't answer my question," she states, hugging the photo to her chest.

"Family above all else, no matter what," I tell her. "It's the Cullen motto."

"Where will we be going? If I leave with you," she adds quickly.

"My penthouse on South Beach. It's secure. No one can get up to it without a special security pass."

I don't tell her that besides immediate family and myself, the only other person to have one of those passes is a Denali. I'll be remedying that before we get there.

She seems to be thinking. Her eyes are moving around the room, not once stopping on me. Her gaze stops momentarily on another photo, and then she finally looks at me.

We regard each other coolly, and it occurs to me that the tension level has dropped a bit.

"My apartment," she says softly. "I love it here."

"I'll make sure you're comfortable at the penthouse. You can treat it as your home. I'm not there all that often."

"I'll have to tell them that I'm leaving. I can't just move out."

I nod in understanding.

"And I don't have a car, but I have to work, Edward. You can't be with me at all times. What then?"

These are the things that filtered through my mind overnight. The hows and whats. I suppose it's too much to ask her to trust me.

"Let's just get moving before I give some details."

She takes a deep breath, clutching the photo even harder. "I don't have much."

"What's yours?" I ask, looking around the room.

"Most of the knick-knacks and books. That's about it."

"I see. Perhaps you should just take what you can't live without, and we can come back later for everything else."

She barely nods before turning, her shoulders slumped as she disappears.

I don't envy her, not one bit. But it beats the alternative. I'm glad she finally realized that.

I pull her cell phone from my back pocket. I went through her contacts this morning, but nothing stood out to me. There are only a handful of names, mostly male. I don't know why, but this irks me slightly. It means that she has a life, and that is going to complicate things. I'll have to make it clear to her that if she wishes to keep these people in her life, she's going to have to promise me she won't talk about me or my family. She's going to have to go about her business as if nothing has changed.

I program my information into her phone, but rather than using my first name, I put it under my middle of Anthony.

The paranoid side of me wants to get her an entirely new phone and number, just in case the Denalis decide to crack into hers, but that may be overkill.

"Can I have that back?" she asks from the doorway. She's changed into a pair of jeans and a plain red t-shirt. She looks years younger than she really is, and for some reason, I suddenly feel sad.

I nod and hold it out. She takes it, shoving it into the bag hanging from her shoulder.

"I put my number in there," I tell her. "But it's under Anthony."

If she wonders why, she doesn't show it. She just shrugs and turns. "I'm ready."

I pick up my bag from where I'd dropped it early this morning and follow her out the door.

She's carrying the photo of herself with her father as we leave.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** I hope some of your questions got answered :)

See you next time!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews. I'm so glad you all like it enough to comment :)**

**Thanks to Ovie and Dinx!  
**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Eight**

**-BPOV-**

Being the daughter of a cop – and the sister of one – has afforded me a lot of things in life. Not materially speaking, of course, but mentally.

I know how to take down a grown man if one accosts me – and no, it doesn't involve a Taser or pepper spray. My dad made me take self-defense lessons when I was a mere thirteen years old and told him that old Mr. Wheeler two houses down was giving me funny looks.

While I tend to think that gut instinct is something you're born with, like a birthmark, I also like to think that my dad had something to do with instilling in me that if something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't.

And at this moment, as I sit in the passenger seat of Edward's Escalade, nothing about this feels right. It doesn't feel _wrong_, and it isn't setting off every single alarm bell in my head, but there is one or two constantly dinging, just enough to make me question my sanity.

He hasn't said a word since we pulled away. The radio isn't on, and the early morning downpour has stopped, so I don't even get to hear the swishing of the windshield wipers. Just … silence.

He stood several feet away when I rang the bell at the main house. No one answered, and he urged me to forget about telling them for now. He promised we'll return, and for whatever reason, I believe him.

I glance down at the photo of my dad and me. He'd be so disappointed right now. Jasper will be, too. I shudder at the thought of calling him, but I'll have to.

I have a plan, which is part of the reason I agreed to this anyway.

I keep my eyes on the city as it flies by. I love it here, I truly do. I briefly thought about telling Edward that I could just leave Miami, but to where? There's nothing left for me in Cleveland, and everyone I knew when I went to Ohio State has fled to various parts of the country and I don't keep in touch with any of them.

Besides, if the Denalis are as connected as Edward has led me to believe, they would probably just track me down.

Edward clears his throat, and I feel my nerves spike, waiting for him to speak.

"Are you hungry? You didn't eat breakfast, and it's almost ten."

It's funny how you really don't think about food until someone mentions it, because suddenly, my stomach rumbles to life and decides to voice its disapproval at being neglected.

"Um, I could eat," I reply, staring straight ahead.

"Good, because I'm famished. I know just the place."

In less than ten minutes, we've pulled up to a place off the Dixie Highway called Berries In The Grove. From the front, it looks like a hotel, but Edward maneuvers the car around to a rear parking lot as if he's done it a dozen times.

"Ever been here?" he asks as he turns the engine off.

I shake my head.

"Best breakfast in the city," he responds as he gets out.

I hesitate before opening the door. He stands in front of the car and looks at me expectantly, twirling the keys around on his index finger.

He walks next to me as we approach the building and opens the door, ushering me inside.

I might appreciate his gentlemanly behavior if I wasn't aware of his homicidal tendencies.

"Mr. Cullen!" The host greets Edward with a smile, shaking his hand. "Table for two?"

"Please, Sal," Edward replies, glancing around the dining room. "Outside, if that's possible."

"Anything for you, sir," Sal says. "Follow me."

Edward motions for me to walk ahead, and I do, feeling only moderately at ease. There aren't very many people in the dining room, and we're the only ones in the courtyard.

Sal pulls out my chair, and I thank him as I sit. Edward takes a seat across from me.

"I'll be playing server this morning," Sal says with a grin. "What to drink?"

"Orange juice for me," Edward tells him.

"And for the lady?"

"Oh, um…" I pick up the menu and glance at the offerings. "Orange juice is fine."

He nods and disappears. I take a moment to check out the surroundings. It's a quaint little courtyard with a couple dozen tables. Some of them have umbrellas, though ours does not. It sits in the shadow of a palm tree, and I can't help but smile a little when I hear the palm fronds brush together. It calms me, but only mildly.

"The breakfast bruschetta is good," Edward offers, not taking his eyes off the menu. "But I can't pass up the Belgian waffle."

Everything on the menu sounds heavenly, and I'm still trying to make up my mind when Sal returns.

The orange juice is served in a wine glass with an orange slice wedged onto the rim. No doubt it's Florida's finest.

"I'll take the Belgian platter," Edward tells him, holding up his menu.

"And for Miss…?"

"Sw-"

"Marie," Edward says to him, cutting me off.

I look at him and sigh. "I'll take the eggs benedict."

Sal leaves in a hurry, and Edward leans back in his chair, appraising me for a moment.

"I come here at least once a week," he says. "Usually with company, so you'll have to forgive my need to be discreet."

I fold my arms, keeping my eyes on the bottle of Tabasco sauce in the center of the table. I probably don't want to know what he means by _company_.

"We need to discuss a few things." He sits forward and takes a sip of his drink. "First, your job. I assume they're aware of what happened Friday night?"

I nod. Tara had called me Saturday while I was with Jasper, but I didn't take the call. Her message firmly stated that I was to report to her office first thing Monday morning.

"And how were you going to get there?" Edward asks.

"A friend," I reply, but I should've known that wouldn't be enough for him.

"A friend," he says, tapping his fingers on the table. "Well, you can tell her-"

"Him," I interrupt. It might be a good thing for him to realize that I have at least one male friend. And that's all he needs to know.

His eyes narrow. "_Him_, that you have transportation."

"Do I? Are _you_ going to take me?"

"Tomorrow, yes."

I sigh. "That's not necessary."

"It is. And I'm going to walk you right up to the door."

_What!_

"Does your school have security?" he asks.

"No."

"So, anyone can be on the property? Probably just walk right into the building?"

"Well, yeah, but they won't get far inside. The only entrance open to the public is at the front office, and if someone wants to go into the main school building, they have to be buzzed in by the clerk. The other doors only open with a passcode."

He's still tapping his fingers on the table and I want to smack them still.

"Hmm." His brow furrows. "Well, that's one bright spot, I suppose. You'll be safe inside, but not out."

"Why does it matter? You said that the Denalis won't touch me if my last name is Cullen. Besides, what would they do to me at a _school_?"

He smirks. "I know what I said, Isabella. But honestly, there's no telling what they're capable of, given what they've lost."

"Oh." I can feel the anger boiling inside my chest. "That's just great, _Edward_."

"And there's the whole Jacob Black fiasco to worry about. Though, not for long, I suppose."

My eyes widen. "You said you wouldn't-"

"Ah, food." He's cut me off again, this time when Sal approaches with our breakfast.

I'm suddenly not hungry.

**-EPOV-**

Dozens of words are swirling around in my head, but I haven't been able to find any that will make her shoulders loosen.

As we eat, two cops enter the courtyard, and I smile a little. I know what's coming, but I play it cool.

Her eyes land on them as soon as they sit down.

_Bingo._

She looks from them to me, and back and forth a few more times before one of them catches sight of us.

He stands, and I hear Bella gasp. Her face lights up as if she's won a round of poker and she looks at me.

"Isabella, might I remind you that I'm not holding you against your will?" I say as the cop walks toward us.

Her eyes widen when she realizes that the cop likely overheard my statement.

I grin, no doubt being a little too smug for her liking.

"Hey, Edward. Fancy meeting you here," he says, glancing at Isabella.

_Indeed._ "Eric," I reply, standing to shake his hand.

I can see Isabella fidgeting, her fingers tightening and loosening on the balled up napkin in her hand.

"Miss Swan, it's a pleasure to meet you," Eric says smoothly.

I'm having entirely too much fun with this. She's flustered, but wears it well. She merely nods at him before picking up her glass of juice. I can see it vibrating from the force of her shaky fingers.

I pull him away from the table and out of earshot.

"Jesus, Edward. She's fucking beau-"

I cut him off quickly. "Did you fill Tyler in?"

"Yeah, man. It's all good." He looks over at Isabella and I suppress a growl.

"Good. Just remember where your paycheck is coming from."

"Of course, man," he replies, bumping my shoulder with his fist.

I rejoin Isabella and she has her head down. I hear her sniffle. "What?" I ask, probably a little more callously than I should have.

When she doesn't reply, I take a few bites of food. "You need to eat," I tell her.

"Not hungry," she mumbles.

"I went to school with Eric," I explain. "We're old friends."

She's pushing food around on her plate. I reach my fork over and pluck a piece of fruit. She finally lifts her head and looks at me.

"You told him my name."

"I did. He and his partner are going to help us out. Keeping you safe is more than one man can handle, especially when you insist on acting like a second-grader."

Her eyes narrow as I grin. _Oh, she's too easy!_

"How old are _you_?" she asks, her tone accusatory.

"Well, that depends who you ask. My birth certificate says I'm twenty-eight, but my sisters and girl-" I pause, because technically, Tanya isn't my girlfriend, but she often seems to think she is. "Let's just say I don't always act my age. It depends on the day." I flash her a grin, hopefully boyish and charming enough that she'll at least smile a little.

"You have a girlfriend," she states. I don't think it's out of disappointment, but surprise. "Is that what you meant when you said I'd give you freedom?"

Definitely not disappointment. She seems a little disgusted.

"Hm, among other things," I reply.

"I have to go to the restroom," she says, standing and dropping her napkin on the table.

The fork pauses halfway to my mouth as I stare up at her.

She smirks. "Would you like to come with me and hold my hand?"

I let a grin slowly take over my face and say nothing. She rolls her eyes and walks away.

I figure I'll give her five minutes, and if she isn't back, I'll go check on her.

In the meantime, I pull my phone out and see that Tanya has called four times, as has Carmen.

I decide to save that call for when Isabella is present to hear the exchange. I need her to fully understand that I'm not joking about the predicament she's in.

I pull up my father's number and wait for him to answer.

"Edward," he says casually.

"Any word on Black?"

"None. I sure would like to know why you're so interested in that kid."

"I'll explain it later. Actually, I have a lot to discuss with you." I keep my eyes on the backdoor of the restaurant as I speak. "Have you spoken with Eleazar today?"

"Earlier. They're finalizing funeral arrangements. Rosalie and Marcus are on a flight right now. The service will likely be Tuesday."

"I see," I reply. There's still no sign of Isabella, and a quick glance at my watch tells me that she's been in there six minutes.

"Gotta run," I tell him. "I'll be in touch." I disconnect and glance toward Eric and Tyler, but they're both occupied with a massive stack of pancakes.

Just as I go to stand, the door opens and she walks out. Her step seems lighter. I hope that means she's in a better mood.

She plops down into her chair and sits forward, finally digging into her food.

"You're feeling better," I state, finishing off my juice.

She shrugs as she chews.

"While you eat, I feel the need to discuss our arrangements. Since we'll be eloping, there's a three-day waiting period. But, as luck would have it, I know someone who owes me a favor, so we don't have to wait. We can fill out the form online and take it to the clerk's office in the Gables on your lunch break tomorrow." I pause, waiting for her to acknowledge me.

She lifts her eyes after a moment and they meet mine. I'm not expecting the pang of shame I feel when I see her sadness.

"I know it's not ideal, Isabella," I tell her again. "But you have to trust me."

She lowers her head again and gently lays the fork on her plate. She's made a pretty good dent in her food, so at least I don't have to worry about her starving herself to death.

I catch Sal's attention before speaking again. "I promise you it'll be fine. And, if at any time you want to back out, I won't stop you."

I realize that I mean it, but I hope she doesn't. I barely know the girl, but after spending the last several hours with her, I feel compelled to keep her safe. There's a sweetness to her that is hard to find in anyone else these days. She kind of reminds me of Alice. The thought of anything like this happening to my baby sister makes my insides curl.

Sal comes over with our check, and I pay the bill, leaving him a sizable tip, as always, for his discretion. I doubt anyone would come snooping around, but I'm not taking any chances.

I lead Isabella to the car and, as a sort of peace offering, open the passenger side door. She glances at me warily before climbing in.

When we pull away from the restaurant, I finally decide to call Carmen.

I place my iPhone on the docking station and tell it to dial her so that Isabella is aware of whom I'm speaking with.

"Speakerphone," I say, and the sound of ringing fills the car.

Isabella is watching the phone curiously, and when the feminine voice answers, her eyes move to me.

"I was beginning to think you forgot about me," Carmen says, her condescending tone making me scowl.

"Not a chance," I say, looking at Isabella. "How are things?"

"Eleazar is sleeping, bless him. And Tanya is lounging by the pool. Marcus and Rosalie should be landing this afternoon."

Isabella folds her arms and looks out the window.

"More importantly, Edward," Carmen says, and I glance at Isabella, who has suddenly shifted her focus back to the phone. "Have you taken care of our problem?"

Isabella looks at me, her eyes wide, and I shake my head at her, silently telling her to be quiet.

"It's no longer an issue," I say.

Isabella covers her mouth, and I can tell she's struggling not to speak, or cry, or do something really foolish.

"Good, that's good news. I won't ask for details. I expect you'll be stopping by today to see Tanya?"

"We'll see," I answer. "I have to go, Carmen."

"Later, darling," she says before hanging up.

The phone beeps and Isabella finally lets out a cry. "She … you … she thinks I'm dead!"

"It's best for now," I tell her, merging onto the causeway. "The less she knows, the better. I can't very well tell her that I'm marrying you. She'll have to find out after the fact."

She lets out a strangled laugh. "I'm going to end up dead, aren't I?"

I sigh. "Not on my watch, Isabella."

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** Thanks for reading :)

Couple of fic recs to make...

If you're a fan of "The Walking Dead," check out "Your Hands Can Heal, Your Hands Can Bruise." It's the best WD fic I've ever read, especially if you're a fan of Daryl.

As for Twific, check out "Symmetry," by aftrnoondlight. It's lovely, and Edward is swoon-worthy.

See ya next time!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: As always, thanks so much for reading and leaving your comments. I love hearing what you guys think!  
**

**Thanks to Ovie and Dinx!  
**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Rated M for language, violence and adult situations. Yes, there will be character death. Stephenie Meyer owns any names you recognize. I'm just playing with them._

**Chapter Nine**

**-BPOV-**

Edward called _her_ in front of me on purpose, and it worked. That woman's voice sent chills up and down my spine. She obviously meant business. And he lied to her. He said I was no longer a _problem_.

The direness of the situation has finally hit me.

If I back out of this now, and those people find out I'm alive, it's not just me they'll take care of.

It's Edward.

That shouldn't bother me. After all, he is who he is. He obviously likes to be in control at all times and will do whatever it takes to maintain that. But the thought that one more person – or several, his family – could suffer because of me… it doesn't matter that they're apparently cold-hearted, ruthless-

"Isabella?"

I've got my eyes squeezed shut and my hands clamped over my mouth.

"Isabella? What's wrong?"

"Pull over," I mumble, dropping a hand to my stomach.

He gets the hint and quickly jerks the car into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. I jump out before it's parked and dash inside, straight to the restroom.

Clearly, I'm not cut out for this.

After expelling everything I ate at breakfast, I splash water on my face.

There's a knock at the door, and I know it's Edward.

"I have some water," he says.

I stare at my reflection.

The door handle moves.

"Isa-"

I pull the door open and he stares at me, thrusting a bottle of Evian at me. I take it from him and close the door.

"I'm sorry," I hear him say, though I don't think he meant for me to hear it.

I rinse my mouth out and venture into the store. Edward is nowhere to be found. I take my time, picking out some watermelon gum and a bag of gummy bears. When I finally go outside, I see Edward sitting on the curb, the phone at his ear.

He glances my way and stands, says goodbye to whomever he was speaking with, and gives me a wary smile. "Feel better?"

I say nothing. What can I say? By now, the man has to realize that he's taking on more than he bargained for. Apparently, I have a weak stomach and an even weaker resolve.

"I was just speaking with my father," he says as he pulls away from the store. "He'll be joining us for dinner this evening."

_Great._ Given Edward's propensity for turning my insides into Jell-O, I can only imagine how my nerves will react to his father.

"His name is Carlisle," Edward says, merging into traffic as we near the causeway. "He owns Volturi International. That's where I work. We do a little bit of everything, though we make most of our money in technology."

I have no idea why he's telling me these things. He's been a closed book when it comes to most everything.

"Volturi has offices across the world," he continues. "I spent six months in London getting our office up and running. Have you been to London?"

I haven't been anywhere. I don't even have a passport, but I don't tell him this. I keep my head turned away from him, my arms folded, hoping he'll just stop talking.

"You should go," he says. "London, Paris, Munich, Rome. I bet you'd love Rome. So much history."

The car turns right once we've crossed the causeway, and I watch with interest as we head toward the tip of the island. I shouldn't be surprised when we pull into the drive of a high-rise, but I am. This is one of the most beautiful and fascinating buildings on the island. I've admired it from afar each time I've been on South Beach. It's unfathomable that real people live in a building like this, in all its sparkling white splendor. There are two towers, and Edward drives under the awning of the south building.

A valet opens my door as soon as we stop. I glance at Edward, who is already halfway out the door. He walks around and opens the door behind me, pulling out my bag. I finally step out and the valet jogs around, driving the Escalade away.

I reach to take my bag from Edward, but he moves forward. I look after him, then follow.

"Wait here," he tells me when we enter the massive lobby. He walks toward a security guard.

_No problem. _I'll just look. After all, it isn't every day that a person suddenly finds herself surrounded by million-dollar marble and artwork. I casually stroll around the lobby, drinking it in. It's really quite ostentatious and a tad overdone, but I suppose there are people, like Edward, who love to be surrounded by such things.

I find myself facing what looks like an original Picasso. As I stare at it, Edward steps up beside me.

"Is this-"

"It is," he says. "You know, South Beach is more than tanning lotion and boutiques."

I glare at him, perturbed he would think that I'm that shallow.

"I know that," I snap. "I've been in almost all of the galleries, thank you."

He holds up a hand in mock surrender. "You might just be among the elite, Miss Swan."

I scoff, which causes him to smile. He does that a lot, which makes me believe there's more to him than meets the eye.

"Here." He hands me a key card. "There are four penthouses, and each has its own elevator. No one can access any of them without a specially coded key, and this is yours."

I take it from him and flip it over. It's plain white save for a numbered magnetic strip on one side. _How discreet._

He leads me through the lobby and past a row of elevators. I slow, but he keeps walking before he finally looks back at me.

"It's back here," he says, obviously sensing my confusion.

_Of course._

There are four elevators, simply marked A, B, C and D.

"We're in C," he says, gesturing for me to swipe my card.

I do, and the door slides open. Marble, mirror and soft lighting surround us as we step inside.

I feel like I shouldn't be so enamored with this, given the circumstances, but I can't help it. It's a far cry from living in a garage apartment, although my apartment was lovely and cozy and warm.

This feels … well, it feels forced. _No shit! _my inner voice screams.

Material things have never had a place in my life. I was happy driving a beat-up Toyota, drinking out of chipped cups and eating off paper plates. I've owned the same several pairs of jeans for years, and if I weren't a teacher, I'd probably wear nothing but those jeans.

After a couple of tense and quiet minutes, a pleasant feminine voice announces through a speaker that we've reached the penthouse and the door slides open. My eyes widen as I stare down the long hallway and straight at the ocean. The way the sun bounces off the water and straight into the room makes it look like he has the place decorated in crystal.

Edward steps out and I follow.

"Lights," he says, and the lights flicker on in the hall.

"Everything is automated," he says. "We used the penthouse to test a voice-activation system, and I decided to keep it." He shrugs, smiles. "I'm not lazy, I promise."

"Everything?" I ask, looking at the artwork lining the walls as I follow him toward the main room.

"Yep. Try it. Say something." He drops my bag on a chair and looks at me expectantly.

"Um…" I'm flummoxed. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this.

"Music," Edward says, watching me as the sound of classical music filters into the air.

"Puccini?"

He smiles. "You know opera."

"I love opera music," I say, watching as he walks into the kitchen area. It's open to the dining and living areas. The whole main room is one big open space, full of black and white leather furniture with a few red pillows scattered about. It's actually sparsely decorated, and tastefully so. I can't keep my eyes from going to the massive wall of windows. All I can see is blue.

"Water on," Edward says, looking at me with a smirk as the faucet comes to life.

I roll my eyes. "I get it."

He chuckles. "It was my first big project at Volturi. I'm quite proud of it."

"Water off."

I bite back a laugh and turn toward another hallway.

"OK, so you've seen the kitchen. It's pretty standard." He walks out and stops next to me. "The restaurant here has twenty-four hour room service. Needless to say, I don't cook a lot, so there isn't a lot to eat here. There's a market downstairs in the lobby. They sell the basics, if you want to get anything."

He moves ahead of me, picks up my bag and starts down the hall. I follow.

"There are three bedrooms and three bathrooms. My room," he says, pointing toward a closed door at the end of the hall. He directs me away and points out a massive bathroom wedged between the two other bedrooms.

"Your room," he says, pushing open the door. "The other bedroom is currently housing my office."

I step into the room, but I'm not interested in the giant king-sized bed, or the lavish mahogany furniture. I'm walking toward the glass doors that take up a whole wall. I push aside the sheer drapes and what I see takes my breath away. I slide the door open and step out. The smell of salt immediately fills my nostrils and I inhale deeply.

Azure blue water as far as the eye can see.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" he asks.

"It's beautiful," I reply, leaning against the railing.

"The view is what sold me on the place. You can see the ocean from any room."

He leaves me alone for several minutes, and I hear the overpowering horn of a cruise ship as it leaves port. From this spot, I can see the bay, and three cruise ships are lined up, ready to begin their journeys.

I finally venture back inside and open a door. It leads to a bathroom, smaller than the main bathroom, but still impressive. The floors are white and the walls are tiled in black. The shower is surrounded by glass. There is no tub, unlike in the main bathroom.

I poke my head out to see if Edward is around. When I don't see him, I clear my throat and move toward the shower.

"Shower on," I say.

Water cascades out of a large showerhead and I cover my mouth to suppress a giggle.

"Shower off," Edward says behind me.

I spin around to find him leaning against the door, his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face.

"I told you," he says. "It works for everything. But you have to be within five feet."

I'm sure my face is crimson, but at least he isn't teasing me.

He moves aside to let me pass and I find the closet, large and empty. I have enough clothes to fill half of it, which almost seems criminal. One wall of the closet is for shoes, of which I own six pair.

There's a writing desk on one wall and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed. I want to ask who has used this room, but decide against it. It doesn't feel homey at all. It feels like a lavish, expensive hotel room.

"I can get you some bookcases," he says. "Whatever you need, let me know. You have a lot of books, and you'll need some space for your things."

I nod. "Thanks."

He looks at me and nods before leaving the room again. I notice he brought my bag in, setting it on the bed, and I dig around for my phone.

It's time to call Jasper. I step out onto the balcony, careful to slide the door closed behind me, and hit Jasper's number on speed-dial.

"Bella, hang on one sec," he says on the second ring.

The line goes quiet and I realize he must be on another call. A minute passes before he's back on the line.

"What's up, sis?"

"Um, there's something I have to tell you. And you're going to get really upset, so maybe you should sit down."

"On a scale of one to ten, how upset? Because I'm driving at the moment."

I cringe. "A hundred?"

He sighs. "Great. Let me pull off here."

I take a seat at a little patio table in the corner.

"Okay, Bella. I'm parked. Let me have it."

I chuckle a little. I suppose in the grand scheme of things, seeing as two nights ago I called to tell him I killed someone, this isn't a hundred. Maybe a ninety-five.

"Bella?"

"Yeah, sorry." I sigh. "Do you recognize the name Cullen?"

"Cullen." He repeats the name, says it a few more times as if he's trying to jog it loose in his brain. Then he's quiet.

Now I'm frustrated. Maybe this won't be as easy as I thought. "Jasper, this man showed up at my apartment last night-"

"What?" He practically shouts into my ear, forcing me to pull the phone away. "Who, Bella?"

"His name is Edward Cullen. His family is close with the Denalis."

"Fucking Christ, I knew I shouldn't have left you alone! Why are you just now telling me this? Where are you?"

"Jasper, Stephen Denali's parents put a hit on me," I reply, trying to keep my voice calm.

"Where are you?" he asks again.

"I'm safe," I say. "But I have to tell you something, and you're not going to like it, but it'll make sense if you let me explain."

"Explain away, Bella. Just tell me where you are first."

"No."

"No?"

"Jasper, I'm with Edward right now. I can't tell you where."

"The hell you can't! You're _with_ him? Tell me where you are and I'll get someone there right away."

"I said I'm safe, Jasper. Please, just trust me. I don't want to bring you into this, not right now. Edward thinks I have no family. He doesn't know about you, and I don't want him to."

"Isabella Marie, I swear to God, if you don't tell me right now where-"

"Edward's told me some things," I interrupt. "About the Denalis. About his family, too. They aren't good, Jasper. They've … hurt people. I'm under the impression they're some kind of modern-day crime family. They believe in revenge, Jasper. The Denalis asked Edward to kill me because I killed Stephen. How could you not know about them?"

There's complete silence on the other end. I pause. "Jazz?"

"Jesus, Bella," he mutters. "What are you getting yourself into?"

"Edward said he can protect me."

"How?"

"By marrying him."

I'll admit it sounds absurd, more so when I say it, but it doesn't change my course.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Bella! You can't be serious. How do you know-"

"I believe him, Jazz. If he was going to kill me, he would have done it by now."

"You're telling me that you're going to marry this complete stranger? Who is a member of the one of the biggest..." His voice trails off. Finally, he sighs. "You're crazy."

I glance into the room. There's no sign of Edward.

"Jazz, listen to me. It is crazy, I know that. But don't you see? If I marry him, I'll be one of _them_. I can get you information, inside stuff that you couldn't get before. It will help you guys bring them down. The Denalis and the Cullens. I'm not sure what kind of business they're in, but I know it's not legal. At least, not under the surface. How many missing persons cases do you think this could solve? Unsolved homicides? Drug smuggling? I'm sure the list goes on."

"I don't like it, Bella," he says. "Forget it. We can go about this another way. And if you need protection, I'll get it for you."

"Why don't you check around? I'm sure that someone in your organization is aware of them, just because you aren't."

He sighs. "Bella, I can't let you do this. If anything were to happen to you-"

"I'm willing to risk it, Jasper," I say softly. "Dad didn't raise me to be a coward."

"He didn't raise you to be so foolish, either! Is that what this is about? I know you still struggle with his death, Bella. I do, too. But there are so many ways to right the wrongs of this world, and this isn't one of them.

"How the hell did you come up with this scheme, anyway?"

"Like I said, he told me some things. I read between the lines. It seemed so simple, but now-"

"Is he there?"

"Yes."

"You're really not going to tell me where you are?"

"No. If he finds out that my brother is on the force, then this deal will be off. I'll end up dead either way, Jazz."

"Goddamnit, don't say that! You will not. I'll get you some protection."

"They're ruthless, Jazz. You could surround me with armed guards, but they'd find a way."

"Alright," he says. "I'm going to make a call. Can you answer the phone when I call back?"

"I'll try."

"Bella, I… I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"A multitude of things," he says before disconnecting.

I shove my phone in my back pocket and close my eyes, listening to the distant sound of the waves.

It occurs to me that I've now put Jasper's life in danger, but I'll do everything in my power to make sure he doesn't end up hurt – or worse. I just need him to trust me, and I need for Edward to trust me, too. It's the only way I can possibly put an end to what these families are doing.

I really hope I'm not in over my head.

The phone vibrates beneath me and I glance inside before pulling it out.

"I have a plan," Jasper says.

"OK," I reply. "What do I need to do?"

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:** Okay...so Bella has a plan. Do _you_ think she's in over her head?

See you next time!

And to all my East Coast friends, please be safe!


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